Time After Time
by My Reality is Fiction
Summary: ISTW's LAST EPISODE! Marty and Amelia go to 1885 to rescue Doc. But things go terribly wrong when the DeLorean is totaled and Marty gets injured. Now Amelia must deal with that, the attentions of Jackson Hubert, the mayor's son, and a murderous Tannen!
1. Chapter 1

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**Ps. I own nothing. Duh :P**

**Authors Note**

**Here it is my lovelies!!! THE END! The third and final installment of the "I'll Stop the World" series!!!! I know, I know, it took FOREVER to arrive, but that's only because I was so sorry to see it go! :( You must understand, this series has been in my life for the better part of a year. Well, now it is yours, my dears, yours to eat up. I admit that this first chapter is a bit slow, but the pace will pick up from here on out, trust me! I hope you enjoy!**

**In true BTTF tradition, let us continue where we left off...**

1985—Hill Valley

November 25th

3:30 pm

"We've had that at our office for the past…well…hundred years or so," the delivery man said, looking at the letter in complete awe. "We've had a bet going for ages. Some of my coworkers doubted you'd be here, you see. I mean, can't blame them, not with a letter that old. I, however, said you _would _be here," he stated proudly. "And here you are! And here I go to collect my two hundred and fifty dollars. Have a nice day, Miss."

And he left with a noticeable bounce in his step.

Amelia closed the door and returned to the couch, more baffled than she was before. She sat down next to Marty and placed the letter in her lap, starting at it. Her name was scrawled across the paper in the unmistakable loopy and disjointed handwriting of her father. But what was he doing sending her mail from a hundred years ago?

"Well, open it," Marty prompted.

Amelia gave a little jerk and then ripped the letter open. Her eyes scanned the sentences, gradually widening as she worked her way down the page. Marty sat anxiously next to her, trying and failing to read the reactions on her face.

"Well?" he asked after several painfully slow minutes.

"You're never going to believe this," Amelia said slowly, setting the letter back down on her knees.

"Try me."

Amelia turned to him with eyes round as saucers.

"My father is stuck in 1885."

"WHAT!?" Marty yelled, startling Einstein so much that he leapt to his feet and started barking. "Shut up, Einie. What do you mean he's stuck in 1885?"

"I mean," Amelia said slowly, "my father is stranded one hundred years in the past without any way to get home."

"How?" Marty asked frantically, stunned that she wasn't as worked up about all this as he was, "what happened to the car?"

"Read for yourself," Amelia said, passing him the letter.

Marty took the paper from her and quickly read through it.

"I don't believe this," Marty said, eyes still running across the page, "getting himself stuck in 1885! Did you read why? Listen to this, 'I ran out of fuel earlier than I had anticipated. Apparently the car's gas mileage varies when it is subjected to dimensional changes. Your help would be much appreciated'. How on earth does he expect us to help? He has the car!"

"Keep reading," Amelia prompted coolly. Marty looked at her, he still couldn't believe how well she was taking all this…perhaps she was still reeling in shock.

"'I've buried the car in an abandoned mine shaft'," Marty read on, "'with any luck it will still be there by the time this letter reaches you. Fill it up with gas and come get me. I look forward to seeing you soon, Love, Dad. P.S. Don't forget extra plutonium.'"

"Fairly straightforward, don't you think?" Amelia said when Marty had finished. "That mine shaft he mentioned, I think the mines used to be over by Boot Hill Cemetery. We can go over there after dinner."

"You're taking all this rather well," Marty said incredulously. "Did you not hear part of the problem? Should I read the letter again?"

"No," Amelia said with a frown, "why would you do that?"

"Because I don't feel that you understand what's going on here," said Marty, leaning forward. "Your father is trapped one hundred years in the past."

"Yeah," Amelia said slowly. There was an obvious question mark at the end of the word.

"Amelia! Some emotion would be nice!" Marty exclaimed. Amelia started to chuckle. "Not what I was going for, Aims."

"I'm sorry, Marty," Amelia apologized, "but it's not like we've never time-traveled before. This kind of thing should be routine by now, don't you think?"

"But—"

"We're only going to pick him up, after all."

"I know, but—"

"And it's not like we have to find another almanac or avoid alternate versions of us. It'll be easy, why work myself up? No big deal, right?"

"I mean…yes…" Marty admitted lamely. "I was just hopin' for a bigger reaction."

* * *

A few hours later, the pair, loaded down with equipment, was headed toward the old Boot Hill Cemetery. The cemetery was set at the foot of a hill on the far side of town, well away from anywhere that experienced a heavy flow of traffic. Unkempt and forgotten, Boot Hill was the only great eyesore Hill Valley had. The weeds grew thigh high among the crumbling headstones, and the trash left by teenagers come to blaze up well away from parental supervision was beginning to pile up against the wrought iron fence. The place was a dump, but the determination of the Hill Valley Historical Society kept it from turning into a strip mall.

"Where's this mine?" Marty asked as the two neared the gate to the cemetery.

"We have to cross through there," Amelia said, shining her flashlight at the gate, "the opening to the mine shaft is at the back of the graveyard."

"Super," Marty said flatly.

Amelia looked at him and smirked.

"Scared?" She teased.

"Hardly," Marty snorted quickly, adjusting the knap sack full of tools on his back. "It's just that wading through all those weeds looks like hell."

"Sure," Amelia said with a playful smile.

Marty shot her a look but said nothing.

"Come on, grumpy," Amelia laughed, nudging his arm.

With a swift kick, Amelia opened the cemetery gate. It creaked and moaned in protest but allowed them entrance all the same. Pushing their way through the thick growth of weeds and crab grass, Marty and Amelia hurried across the cemetery to the base of the hill. Nestled among a few overgrown bushes, Marty could see what looked like the entrance to a cave. As they yanked away the brush the mouth of the mine came into better view, black and eerie in the early evening darkness.

"Damn," Marty breathed, stepping back from the mine and gaping at it. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Amelia said, face set in determination. "Let's go."

Flashlights at the ready, Amelia led the way through the entrance of the mine. It was very damp inside and smelled strongly of earth and rotting wood. They could hear the scrambling of tiny feet and Marty could only imagine how many rats were swarming around their feet. He stifled the urge to shine his light on the ground and instead occupied himself with looking for the car.

"You'd think it would just be sitting here waiting for us," Marty said, his voice echoing in the emptiness. "How many places could Doc hide a DeLorean in here?"

"It's probably in a closed off shaft," Amelia said, "look at the walls; see if there's a tunnel that looks caved in."

They shined their flashlights along the muddy walls. For a while it didn't look promising. Then, just as Amelia was beginning to grow frustrated with her father, Marty called out.

"Aims, look here!"

Amelia quickly turned in the direction his light was shining. There, carved into a support beam, were the letters E. B. Amelia's stomach jolted.

"This must be it," she said, hurrying forward.

"The mud is pretty solid here," Marty said, scraping at the caved in tunnel. "We're gonna have to dig it out."

Within fifteen minutes, the two had successfully burrowed through the thick wall of rock and mud and burst into an open tunnel. There, sitting in the middle of the tunnel, covered in a thick layer of dust and rat droppings, was the DeLorean.

"Son of a bitch," Marty breathed, "it's really here."

"Come on," Amelia said, scrambling through the hole they had created, "let's get this thing filled up and out of this mine."

* * *

Marty still couldn't believe it. Amelia was right; he really should be more used to these sudden time traveling escapades, but the fact of the matter was that he wasn't and probably would never be. It was just too easy, that was the part that really made Marty feel uncomfortable. Their adventures had never been as simple as picking somebody up, there was always a catch, always something to throw the entire game off balance. Maybe he was just being stupid, but something deep inside him didn't trust the simplicity of the situation. Then again, that same part of him half expected Biff to pop out from behind a headstone and yell "gotcha!".

_Amelia is right, _Marty thought as he started the car_, everything is going to be fine._

_Hopefully._

The DeLorean roared to life and then fell to purring contentedly, like a pet that had finally found its way home. Marty wiped a thick layer of dust off of the gages and then shifted the car into drive, he could almost hear the gears sigh in relief. Amelia fastened her seatbelt and grasped Marty's free hand. She gave him a nod and Marty pressed down on the gas. The car shot out of the cemetery entrance and sped off down the adjacent road, tires squealing happily. Marty watched the speedometer climb and his insides clenched with the old familiar anticipation. The inside of the car started to get very cold and their seats vibrated violently. Marty pressed down harder on the acceleration. The speedometer needle rose higher.

"Let's get your dad," Marty said, squeezing Amelia's hand.

She smiled at him before pressing her head against the seat and closing her eyes. Take off was never Amelia's favorite part.

The car shook tremendously and the steering wheel went ice cold under Marty's grasp. There was a thunderous _crack, _a flash of blinding light, and the DeLorean vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

**READ AND REVIEW! 3**

**Author's Note**

**HAPPY NEW YEAR! Here is chapter 2 for your reading enjoyment. Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Keep 'em comming, please. I love to hear your thoughts :)**

1885—Hill Valley

November 25th

7:15 pm

_BANG! _

With little warning, the DeLorean was engulfed in a blinding light. The car, apart from being about twenty-six degrees Fahrenheit, was vibrating so intensely that Marty's head kept smacking the back of his seat. Re-entry apparently gets worse the farther back in time you go.

"I hate this part," Amelia growled from the passenger seat.

Marty shot her a quick glance. Her face was pale and her eyes were squeezed shut. He also noticed she was gripping the seat so hard her knuckles were turning white.

"It's almost over," Marty said as the backfire kicked in and the car jostled.

"Wasn't this supposed to be 'instantaneous'?" Amelia asked, her face turning green with the turbulence. "I swear that's what my father said."

A moment later, the DeLorean's tires were skidding over the sandy California desert. The brilliant bluish-white light vanished and Marty's eyes were forced to quickly adjust to the darkness of the November twilight. When the world finally came back into focus, neither of them was surprised to see that the Hill Valley of 1985 had morphed into clear open space. There wasn't a building, let alone another person, to be seen for miles. There was just land, land that stretched on until it collided with the night sky.

"God," Marty breathed, leaning forward over the steering wheel to get a better look, "look at it, Aims. There's nothin' here!"

"Marty," Amelia said through clenched teeth, "I'm sure the view is great, but do ya think you could slow the car down before I ralph all over the upholstery?"

"Oh, sorry," Marty said quickly.

His foot fell on the brake pedal and the car's tires seized up, but the loose sand didn't provide much for the tread to grab a hold of. Instead of stopping, the DeLorean started fish-tailing and sliding. Amelia screamed and screwed her eyes shut again. Marty grabbed onto the steering wheel and tried to pull the car out of the skid, but it didn't help. The DeLorean was carrying way too much weight on its backside for Marty to save it once the momentum got going.

"Come on!" Marty yelled, throwing all his weight on the steering wheel.

The DeLorean screeched, whipped around in the other direction, and began barreling towards a very large, sturdy looking land mass, still swerving uncontrollably.

"Shit," Marty growled, teeth clenched and foot pumping the brakes, willing them to cooperate. "Shit, shit, shit!"

"Marty!" Amelia screamed. Apparently her eyes were open again.

Marty tried to steer the car out of the path of the rock, but the steering wheel wouldn't budge. It and the brakes were apparently staging a very poorly timed strike. Giving up, Marty threw himself over Amelia, who had shrunk into a ball on her seat, and prepared himself for the impact.

"Hold on!"

_CRUNCH!_

The DeLorean had collided with the rock head on, totaling the front end of the car and busting out the passenger side window. Some of the glass shattered into Amelia's hair. She felt something warm and wet running down the side of her face and knew she must have been cut somewhere. It was all over in a matter of seconds. Soon the only sounds were the angry hiss of the engine and Marty's panicked heartbeat.

Then there was silence.

Carefully, Marty lifted his head off of Amelia's back. Through the dust and debris on the windshield he could see that the front end of the car was oozing a steady stream of grayish smoke. The hazards were blinking of their own accord, reflecting off of the rock and smoke and tinting everything orange.

Pushing himself back into his own seat, Marty reached over to open the door. It didn't budge. The crash had jammed a gear somewhere and sealed it shut. Making a split second decision, Marty kicked his already cracked window and it shattered under his foot. A searing pain spread through Marty's calf and he yanked his leg back. A shard of glass about the size of a pocketknife was sticking out through his jeans, which were stained burgundy around the wound. Marty tried to pull it out, but the pain was so great it made his head spin.

"Damn!" He hissed.

"What's the matter?" Amelia asked, uncurling herself from her seat.

"Nothing," Marty said, struggling to hide the glass from her view. He didn't want to worry her. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Marty crawled feet first through the window frame, doing his best to ignore the throbbing of his leg and the little white spots that were popping up in front of his eyes. Once outside, he turned around and extended a hand back to her.

"I can do it, Marty," Amelia said, wiggling her way toward the opening and ignoring his hand. Her momentary lapse in nerves had embarrassed her. She knew Marty didn't care, but her pride wasn't allowing her to be treated like the "damsel in distress" any longer.

Thankful he didn't have to move anymore, Marty leaned his weight against the side of the car, hoping it wasn't too obvious he was forcing himself to stay upright. Sneaking a peek at his leg, Marty saw that the burgundy stain was getting bigger. He wasn't going to be able to hide it from Amelia much longer.

Amelia pushed herself through the window and landed on the ground with a soft _thump_. She brushed the stray shards of glass off of her sweater and turned towards Marty with the intention of saying something, but before the words could escape her lips she caught sight of the car.

"Oh my God…"

The DeLorean was near unrecognizable. The nose of the car was crumpled onto itself, crunched clear up to the windshield and still emitting the grey smoke. Glass lay everywhere and there appeared to be several different kinds of liquids dripping from its belly. Amelia didn't know much about cars, but she was fairly certain that it was beyond even becoming scrap metal at this point.

"We killed it…" Amelia breathed, eyes round as saucers. "Marty, we killed the car."

"Yeah, we sure did," Marty said, glancing sadly at the mangled DMC.

"What am I going to tell my father?" Amelia asked, still staring at the car.

"Well, first we have to find your father," Marty reminded her.

This pulled Amelia out of her momentary daze. Her eyes flashed to Marty and he watched as she shrunk under the weight of the situation, like someone who had just had a weight dropped on her chest.

"Shit," she moaned. Amelia turned away from the car and attempted to see through the empty blackness. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

"No clue," Marty said, gingerly touching his leg while her attention was elsewhere.

"Come on," Amelia sighed, "we better start walking."

Amelia set off into the open desert, apparently assuming that Marty was right behind her. He, however, was still back at the car, dreading the moment when he would have to put weight on his injured leg. Very slowly, Marty pushed himself away from the DeLorean's frame. For a moment he just hovered there in a kind of standing limbo, balancing on one foot and wondering if he would be able to hop his way into Hill Valley. That idea died as quickly as it came up when Marty saw how far away Amelia's back now was. Taking a deep breath, Marty put his full weight down on his injured leg.

For a split second he really thought he was going to be able to do it, and then a pain like Marty had never felt before shot through his entire body. His leg seared as though on fire and Marty crumpled to the ground.

"Aims! Amelia!" Marty called, his voice tight and strangled. "Help!"

Amelia, who by this time had made it quite a ways ahead of him, spun around at the sound of her name. A second later she was sprinting towards him, her face full of anxiety.

"Marty!"

She slid the last few feet towards him and ended up on her knees by his side.

"What happened?" But before the words had fully left her mouth she caught sight of the glass protruding from his leg. "Marty!"

Amelia made to touch it but Marty recoiled.

"Don't! Don't do that!"

"I'm sorry," Amelia said quickly, pulling back as well but keeping her eyes on the glass. His entire pant leg was dyed red now. "This looks really bad."

"Feels even worse," Marty hissed.

"Can you walk on it?" Amelia asked gently.

"Maybe if you cut it off," Marty said, attempting a joke.

"Damnit!" Amelia snapped, eyes brimming with tears. As if today hadn't been awful enough, now Marty wasn't even able to move. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?! You can't lie here, you'll bleed to death!"

"That's a little dramatic, don't you think?" Marty asked, wincing as he tried to push himself up.

"Look at your pants!"

Marty almost wished he hadn't. The sight of all that blood made his stomach churn. He turned to Amelia, about to say something, but stopped himself at the look on her face. Her eyes were alert, like a deer caught in the headlights, and she appeared to be listening very hard.

"Aims?" Marty said carefully.

"Stay here," Amelia said suddenly, getting to her feet. "I'll be back soon."

She laid a swift kiss on his cheek and then darted off into the darkness. Marty watched her go, utterly confused. He stared off in the direction she had disappeared, waiting for some sign of her return. Then, after several tense minutes of silence, he heard something, something that grew louder and louder as it drew closer.

Hooves.


	3. Chapter 3

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**Author's Note**

**Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Those reviews keep me going!! I hope you like this chapter, I had a lot of fun writing it :)**

**!!!Warning!!!**

**Just a friendly reminder that this chapter contains some steamy content. Nothing too bad but it still might make some people uncomfortable. If you don't like that kind of stuff then just don't read the third section of this chapter. You won't miss anything too important.**

1885—Hill Valley

November 25th

8:00pm

Marty pushed himself up on his elbows and squinted off in the direction Amelia had disappeared. He tried hard to get his eyes to see through the dark but it was useless. In the distance, maybe a hundred feet away, the steady cadence of galloping hooves continued to pound the earth. As the horse drew closer, Marty's ears picked up on something else. A low, continuous rumble, like something very big and very heavy being dragged across the rocky desert, was also bearing down on him. Marty's stomach clenched. Amelia had obviously heard the same thing and ran to get help…but what if this noise wasn't a friendly one? A million grotesque possibilities flashed unwillingly through his mind and he had to force himself to think of something else.

_Let's just work on being able to _see_ this thing, Marty_, he thought to himself, taking a deep breath.

Dragging himself closer to the DeLorean, Marty tried using the hazard lights to break through the blackness. It took a moment, but finally he was able to make out a giant mass moving through the darkness.

"Amelia!" Marty yelled, his voice echoing, "Aims!"

No answer. The noise from the horse was too loud, she probably couldn't hear him. The mass, meanwhile, was growing bigger and more distinct as it drew closer. In between the flashes from the hazard lights, Marty could see now that it was a covered wagon pulled by a very large, jet black horse. And sitting up front next to the driver, face full of anxiety, was Amelia.

Marty's heart skipped several relieved beats when he saw her. He grabbed a hold of one of the DeLorean's tires and pushed himself up to get a better view, completely forgetting the shard of glass still buried in his calf. Unfortunately, forgetting the glass didn't take away from its ability to cause unbelievable pain, and Marty had no sooner put weight on his leg than was he crumpled on the ground. The pain this time was tremendous. It pounded through his calf and up his leg, burning so intensely that his vision went fuzzy. He knew he must have driven the glass deeper.

There was a rumble somewhere to his left, a sharp intake of breath, and the scurrying of feet. Marty tossed his head, trying to see, but his vision was now completely black. This leg pulsed angrily.

"Marty!"

He heard Amelia's voice but it was faint and distorted, like she was trying to talk to him in a vacuum. Another throbbing wave rushed through him.

Then he fainted.

* * *

Amelia stood at the foot of Marty's bed, eyes moist and raw from all the crying she had been doing. If it hadn't been for the wagon she had flagged down she didn't know what might have happened to Marty out there. He had lost a good deal of blood. Thankfully, the man who had saved them hadn't asked too many questions about the crash or their clothes. He had just loaded Marty into the back of the wagon and taken them to the only doctor in Hill Valley. That's where Amelia stood now, waiting impatiently for the doctor to arrive and biting her nails down to the nubs. The doctor's housekeeper kept bustling in and out to mop the sweat off of Marty's forehead and reassure her it would only be a "few minutes more". Amelia thought she just wanted to get a better look at their strange clothing.

"Just a few minutes more, dear," the old woman parroted for what seemed like the fiftieth time. Then she left again, closing the door behind her.

Marty stirred in his sleep, moaning a little as he did. Amelia settled herself on the edge of the bed and scooped up his hand, his fingers were ice cold. She chanced a look at his leg, which was lying outside the covers on its own separate sheet. The doctor's housekeeper had sheared away Marty's bloody pant leg, leaving his calf naked and exposed. What Amelia saw made her stomach churn. The flesh was bloody, bruised, and dirty, and the glass was shoved in just about as far as it would go. No wonder Marty had passed out.

A soft rap on the door made Amelia jump. Irritated, she spun around in her seat, expecting to see the busybody of a housekeeper. Instead, a very tall and dark haired man opened the door. He strode across the room without even glancing at Amelia, who quickly moved from her perch on the bed, and knelt down beside Marty. Amelia watched as he felt Marty's forehead, frowned, took his pulse, frowned again, and then moved down to his leg. He stayed there for a moment, gingerly prodding and poking at Marty's raw skin. Then he straightened up and turned toward the door.

"Mrs. Gardner!" He called.

A moment later, Mrs. Gardner the housekeeper appeared behind Amelia, who darted out of the way yet again.

"Yes, Dr. McKinney?"

"Mrs. Gardner, I'm going to need forceps, hot water, towels, and bandages. Get those for me, will you? Oh," Dr. McKinney added, his eyes finally falling on Amelia, "and take this young lady to the sitting room. I think she could do with a cup of tea."

"Right," Mrs. Gardner said, taking hold of Amelia's arm. "Come with me, Dearie. Let's get you a drink."

"But what about Marty?" Amelia asked, sinking her heels into the floor.

"Mrs. Gardner," Dr. McKinney said firmly.

Mrs. Gardner tugged on Amelia's arm and Amelia understood. Leaving all her faith with the doctor, she followed Mrs. Gardner out of the room and down to the kitchen.

"Sit here," Mrs. Gardner said, pointing at the heavy wooden table.

Amelia sat. Mrs. Gardner hurried over to the stove and removed a whistling kettle from it. She poured Amelia a cup of hot water, added some tea leaves, and handed it to her. Then, kettle in one hand, bowl of towels in the other, she hurried out of the room without another word.

Amelia stared at her cup of tea with absolutely no desire to drink it. Her stomach was doing somersaults and her heart was beating a million miles a minute. She hoped Dr. McKinney knew what he was doing. After all, medicine changed quickly, what if 1885 wasn't equipped to deal with this particular problem? She didn't even want to think about what might happen if Marty got an infection…

An hour passed, then two. Amelia's eyes began to droop unwillingly. Her neglected tea sat stone cold in its cup. She was just starting to wonder what was taking so painfully long when she heard heavy footsteps in the hall. A moment later, Dr. McKinney, looking drained and very tired, entered the kitchen. He collapsed into the chair opposite Amelia and took up her forgotten cup. He took a very long drink before making a face and putting it back on the table.

"That's horrible," he coughed.

"Is Marty alright?" Amelia asked impatiently.

"So that's his name," McKinney said. "Yes, he should be fine now. Got all the glass removed. It was hard, though…the glass tore up a good deal of his muscle, hit a couple of nerves. To be honest, I'm surprised he made it to my house. He's lost a lot of blood."

The kitchen went quiet as Dr. McKinney gave Amelia a moment to process everything. Then he cleared his throat.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I didn't get your name."

"Amelia Brown," Amelia said distractedly, her mind still wrapping itself around just how close she'd come to losing Marty.

"Dr. Artemus McKinney," he said. Amelia looked up at him. The more he talked, the more she realized he didn't sound like he was from America. He appeared to have a hint of a brogue that he was working very hard to hide. It was a stupid thing to notice at a time like this, but Amelia couldn't help it. "Now that we've fixed up your brother, what's the matter with you?"

"My bro—oh," Amelia said quickly, shaking her head to clear it, "you mean Marty. No, I'm fine. You're sure he's going to be ok?"

"Well, I wouldn't advise him jumping back on a horse immediately, but he'll definitely walk again. Albeit with a limp."

"How long will that take?" Amelia asked apprehensively.

"Two, maybe three weeks."

_Two weeks?! _Amelia thought frantically. Then she remembered the DeLorean lying crumpled and destroyed in the middle of nowhere. _Well, it's not like we're going anywhere._

Amelia rested her face in her hands, relief blanketing her. He was going to be fine. Limps weren't so bad, it was better than being dead at least.

"What happened out there?" McKinney asked carefully. "My housekeeper said Tom found you by some kind of…metal beast…"

"We had an accident," Amelia said, rubbing her eyes. She knew that answer was obvious but she was too tired to go into detail. "And it wasn't a beast, we crashed our wagon."

"I haven't seen you two before, are you from out of town?"

Amelia looked at him. He was sizing them up, trying to figure out what they wanted and why they were in his town. And why they were dressed so oddly.

"We're from back east," Amelia lied. "We're here to find my—our—father, Emmett Brown."

"Oh, the blacksmith," McKinney said, perking up at the sound of a familiar name. "Yes, he's on the other side of town. I can take you there tomorrow after you've had some rest. You and your brother have been through a lot."

"Yeah…" Amelia said slowly. She wasn't sure how well this brother thing was going to go over with Marty. "Speaking of that, do you think I could see him?"

"Certainly," McKinney said, standing up. "He's in a lot of pain though, don't be surprised if he's a bit out of it."

* * *

"Marty?" Amelia said softly, brushing the hair out of his face.

Marty's eyes slowly flickered open. It took him a moment to focus in the dim candlelight; she could see him trying to figure out who it was. Then his pupils dilated in recognition.

"Aims," he croaked, his voice hoarse

Amelia crawled into the bed next to him, careful not to bump his injured leg, and rested her head on his chest. Marty wrapped his arm around her. A lump formed in Amelia's throat, it was tight and painful. Now that she was with him, the reality of what had almost happened was too great to forget.

"I thought I'd almost lost you," Amelia whispered, trying hard to stop her voice from cracking.

"I'm right here," Marty said softly, his voice rumbling in his chest.

Amelia pushed herself up on her elbow so she could look at him. His face was very pale and waxy but his eyes were bright and alert. She was glad to see that, it meant he still had some strength left. If there was one thing she hated most in the world it was seeing Marty helpless.

Very gently, Amelia bent down and touched her lips to his. Not wanting to drain what was left of his energy, she quickly made to pull away, but Marty held the side of her face and kissed her harder. A feeling deep down told her this wasn't such a good idea. Ignoring it, Amelia tangled her hands in Marty's hair and carefully crawled on top of him. Marty made a noise in the back of his throat and grabbed her butt, pushing her closer to him. Amelia giggled and nibbled lightly on his bottom lip. Marty snaked his tongue inside her mouth. He tasted like lemon tea. Amelia wondered vaguely how much Mrs. Gardner had made him drink.

After a couple of minutes, something hard brushed against Amelia's inner thigh. She tried to ignore it but Marty ground himself against her, forcing her to notice. An unfamiliar pressure began to build between her legs. It was uncomfortable and Amelia squeezed her thighs together to try and get rid of it, but when Marty ground against her again it flared to life with a vengeance. The next time he thrust against her she met him halfway.

Marty moaned into her mouth and reached up under her shirt. He unclasped her bra and took one of her breasts in his hand, squeezing it gently. Amelia started to grind against him rhythmically. Marty kissed her hard and reached around to the front of her jeans. Amelia heard them unzip.

"Marty," Amelia said breathlessly, stopping kissing him almost immediately, "what are you doing?"

"What? What's the matter?" Marty asked.

"Um, I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Amelia said carefully. "Not now at least."

"Oh," Marty said, his voice flat. "Well, that's fine."

"You're not mad, are you?" Amelia asked, climbing off of him and searching his face. "I mean, you were just in a car accident and everything…"

"It's fine, really," Marty said, a pained smile on his face. "Let's just…go to sleep."

He rolled over and doused the candle.

Amelia bit her lip. She hated to do this to him, but this wasn't exactly how she had envisioned it. Amelia wanted her first time to be special and romantic…and not in the house of guy who thought they were siblings.

_Oh, God,_ she thought miserably,_ how am I going to tell Marty that?_

She glanced at him laying next to her, feigning sleep, and decided she would wait until the morning. She just hoped Mrs. Gardner wouldn't check on him in the middle of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

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**Author's Note**

**Ok, so, I totally had writer's block this week. I seriously couldn't think of anything to write. That's why this chapter is a bit late and probably not as good as usual. Sorry, Kiddos. I did my best. I hope you enjoy it anyway!**

**PS. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews I've been getting! I love getting feedback from you guys, it keeps me going!! Keep 'em coming!! :D**

1885—Hill Valley

November 26th

5:00 am

Dr. McKinney found Amelia in the kitchen the next morning. Nodding, he took a seat next to her at the kitchen table. He still looked drained, but Amelia noticed there was a bit of a glow in his cheeks this morning. Apparently sleep had done him some good. Amelia wished she could say the same thing about herself.

She was still beating herself up over teasing Marty. How could she do that? More importantly, how had she let it get that far in the first place? Sex wasn't even something she particularly wanted. Just the thought of it scared her half to death, and now Marty was under the impression that she just needed more time to get used to the idea. She needed more time alright…about five years and an engagement ring more…

"Good morning," Dr. McKinney said politely, yanking her out of her head and helping himself to a plate of biscuits. "I trust you slept well?"

Amelia felt her cheeks color. She nodded and busied herself with her cup of coffee. McKinney fell silent.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Gardner came in and took their requests for breakfast. As she began bustling about, Dr. McKinney settled back in his seat and took to studying Amelia, making her both self-conscious and uncomfortable. There was a sort of half smirk on his face as he watched her. It was an expression that she really couldn't place but for some reason it made her cheeks grow pinker. Amelia tried to ignore him, afraid he was gearing up to ask more questions. The last thing she wanted to do was lie her way through another conversation.

"How old are you, Miss Brown?" McKinney asked suddenly, completely taking her off guard.

Amelia looked up at him. His lips twitched in a quick smile.

"Seventeen, almost eighteen," she said. Then she frowned, "Why?"

"Curious," he said, shrugging. "Have you seen your brother this morning?"

"I peeked in, yes" Amelia lied, still wondering what her age had to do with anything, "he's still sleeping."

"Good, good, just what I wanted to hear," Dr. McKinney grinned, breezing through his momentary awkwardness. "I'll check on him after breakfast."

"Doctor," Amelia began.

"Please, call me Artemus," he said.

"Artemus," Amelia said slowly, stifling the urge to laugh, "you said last night you could take me to my father?"

"I did, didn't I? Well then, that's on the list right after I see your brother. Now, let's eat."

* * *

Amelia met Artemus on the porch a little after they had finished breakfast. He assured her again that Marty was doing just fine and then ushered her outside to where his wagon was waiting. After helping Amelia into her seat, something she didn't want and only allowed in order to seem polite, Artemus settled himself on the driver's side, cracked the whip, and off they went.

It was still rather early, maybe five-thirty or six. In 1985, the only people who would be awake at this time were businessmen on their way to work, maybe the occasional mom or teenager who forgot to do homework the night before. Here however, everyone was out and about. And they all stopped what they were doing to watch Amelia, her strange clothes, and Dr. McKinney's wagon go by.

_If I could time travel and not get stared at I think I'd like it more,_ Amelia thought to herself as another group of kids halted their game to giggle at her outfit. _And these jeans are designer, thank you very much._

"Well, that's your father's place," Artemus said, stopping the wagon in front of a very large blacksmith's shop. "He should be inside. Do you mind if I come in and say hello?"

Amelia didn't answer. She had already jumped from the wagon and was sprinting toward the open doors of her dad's shop. She heard Artemus call out her name in surprise and ignored him again. He was bound to follow her anyway. Right now she just wanted to see her father.

"Dad!" she called once inside. "Dad, where are you?"

"Amelia? Amelia, is that you?"

Never had her father's voice sounded so wonderful. Frantically, she cast around for the sight of him, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Where are you?" She called.

"Just a minute," his voice returned.

A second later, Emmett came out from behind something very large and tarp-covered. His face was crinkled in a radiant smile, his eyes very bright and a little shiny. Amelia's resolve fell the moment she saw him. She broke into tears and threw herself into his arms.

"What's all this?" Emmett asked, shocked and a little alarmed at his daughter's behavior. "Where's Marty?"

"Your son is at my house, Mr. Brown," Artemus said, easing his way into the shop and doing his best to seem oblivious to Amelia's emotional breakdown. "He had quite the accident the other night."

"My son?" Emmett muttered to himself. He looked down at Amelia. She sniffled apologetically and fell to crying again. "Oh, yes, you mean Marty of course. I have many sons. Sometimes it's hard to keep them straight."

"Yes," Artemus said, looking at him oddly. "Well, I can see now is a bad time. I'll call again later and we can discuss your son's condition. It's nothing serious, I assure you."

"Thank you, Art," Emmett said. Amelia saw Artemus wince a little at Emmett's informality.

"You're quite welcome," he said politely. "Goodbye Mr. Brown, Miss Brown."

Then he left.

"Stuffy Irish bird, isn't he," Emmett remarked after he had gone. Then he laid a kiss on Amelia's forehead. "I think you have something to tell me?"

Amelia wiped her eyes and on his shirt and nodded.

They sat down in a couple of chairs Emmett had set up around his workbench and Amelia told him everything, starting with the arrival of his letter and ending with them arriving at Artemus's house. When she got to the DeLorean being demolished in the middle of nowhere she hesitated. Then, just as if she was ripping off a Band-Aid, she blurted it all out at once.

"What do you mean by 'demolished'?" Emmett asked slowly, the expression on his face somewhere between disappointment and terror.

"I mean it's gone," Amelia said. "The only way that thing is going anywhere is if we're pushing it."

Emmett's face blanched so badly that Amelia lurched forward, afraid that he might faint.

"But its fine, right?" she hurried on, praying it wasn't bad as the look on his face suggested. "You can fix it right?"

"I'd have to see it," he said, shaking his head. "But from what you're telling me…"

"What does that mean?" Amelia asked quickly, her stomach clenching.

Emmett shook his head again, more forcefully this time.

"Nothing, I have to see the car before I say any more."

Amelia could tell he was trying not to scare her. Unfortunately, she was already there. She had never even thought that her father might not be able to fix the car. Now, seeing him so shaken, she wasn't sure what to think. Maybe the DeLorean was gone for good. What would happen to them then? They couldn't just _stay _in 1885.

Could they?

"So," Amelia said, attempting to change the subject and get her mind off such a horrifying possibility, "what have you been doing here?"

"Building this mostly," Emmett said, looking around his shop. His voice still had a bit of a defeated edge to it. "It's been...educational."

Amelia looked around her. It was pretty impressive. Where she sat now was clearly his workshop area. There was a large workbench, an even larger forge, and what appeared to be several stables for horses. No detail had been left forgotten. Even his outfit, which she had just now noticed, was perfect down to the ten-gallon hat atop his head. She had to hand it to her father; he could cook up a fake identity better than anyone she knew.

"And they rest of the time? When you weren't building?" Amelia continued.

"Trying to fit in," he said, smirking at her, "Speaking of which…"

"I know, I know…the clothes."

"I'll get you some new ones after I go visit Marty. Excuse me, I mean, your brother."

"Please," Amelia sighed, "I don't want to talk about that."

"So I can assume that Marty doesn't know I've adopted him?" Emmett laughed.

Amelia rolled her eyes at him. She was glad somebody could find humor in such a terrible situation. She was having some trouble herself.

* * *

Emmett went to visit Marty later that afternoon. He wanted to bring him back to the workshop but Artemus seemed to think that it would be more beneficial to his recovery if Marty stayed at his home a while longer. He also suggested that Amelia visit Marty every day to keep his morale up. Amelia didn't think Artemus McKinney gave two figs about Marty's morale, especially after Emmett told her how Artemus praised him for having such a "lovely and ladylike daughter".

Marty, on the other hand, wasn't singing Amelia's praises at the moment. Emmett had been the one to tell him about their new family connection and needless to say he was far from pleased. Amelia couldn't say she blamed him. It was a pretty stupid thing to agree with, all things considered.

"I wouldn't go over there today if I were you," Emmett said to Amelia later on when he was back at the workshop. "He needs some time to cool off and get used to the idea. He'll come around though."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Amelia said, leaning against a beam and frowning. "I don't think I could take any more of our friend Artemus today anyway."

"He's quite fond of you," Emmett said absently, oiling up the tools at his workbench.

"You mentioned," Amelia groaned. "How old is he? Forty?"

"Thirty-Two."

"That's tons better."

"Be civil to him please," Emmett said, turning towards her.

"He's creepy," Amelia said bluntly.

"Maybe," Emmett consented, "but you're supposed to be trying to blend in here. In this day and age a young, attractive, single girl with no prospects does not go about snuffing older gentlemen just because she thinks they're 'creepy'. Just be nice. And that reminds me," He added, "your new clothes are in the first stable. You can change there."

"Fine," Amelia said, crossing her arms. "I'll be nice. But if he makes a pass I'm done with this Laura Ingles crap."

Then she stalked off to change.

Emmett watched her go and sighed. He didn't know when she had grown up, but she definitely wasn't the five-year-old he had known any longer. He couldn't just tell her not to do something and just expect her to go along with it. She was turning into a woman, a woman with ideas and opinions all her own. He was confident she would be alright out in the world, she was tough like her mother. It was just that part of him missed the little girl who used to play with Barbies and follow him around his workshop like a puppy.

He was just pondering whether or not a machine designed to reverse the aging process would be scientifically possible when there was a rap on his shop door.

"Brown," a woman's voice cut harshly through the science, "I'm here for my locket. Is it fixed yet?"

Emmett turned around and then leapt from his stool.

"Oh, yes, just finished it," he said, scooping up a gold necklace from his workbench and taking it over to her. "Here you are, Miss Tannen."


	5. Chapter 5

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**Author's Note**

**Hellooooo! Chapter 5 is here and I apologize in advance for the lack of Marty. He's coming back gals and guys, fear not! But first, a chance to meet our newest Tannen. My own creation, and boy am I proud of her! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I promise that all your questions and concerns will be answered/addressed in future chapters. There's a reason for everything, if you can believe that :D I'm not THAT crazy! Also, I apologize in advance for any typos you may find. This chap was written at a very late/early hour. I did look it over but...**

**Enjoy, loves, and review, review, REVIEW! XOX**

Chapter 5 Prologue

Beatrice "Bea" Tannen was the first in her family to ever make anything of herself. Of that she was very sure and very proud.

She was also the first in her family to be born in America. Her parents, both German immigrants, were barely off the boat at Ellis Island when her mother went into labor. The next fifteen years of her life were spent on the Lower East Side, watching her parents work themselves to death and sharing a bed with her three older sisters. It was hardly the ideal childhood.

At fifteen, Bea ran away from home. She moved to Chicago and found a job as a factory worker. Life in Chicago was just as hard as it had been in New York, but for different reasons. Her blonde hair and pretty blue eyes brought her unwanted attention from the men she worked with. Three years after she had moved to the city, Bea gave birth to a baby boy. He only lived for a week.

After her son's death, Bea left Chicago and headed out west to California. In Hill Valley she met an old prospector with even older money. Her past had taught her a thing or two about ensuring her own security, and the minute the opportunity presented itself she married him. For months there were whispers questioning the reasons for the marriage, all of them dishonest. And then one day, the old man dropped dead. As expected all his money went to Beatrice. The reason for his death was never really determined, but everyone in Hill Valley was fairly certain they could do the math for themselves.

Despite the gossip and slanderous remarks that followed her around, Bea decided to remain in Hill Valley. She used her new found money to build the town's first saloon and gambling hall. It was an instant success.

That was four years ago. Beatrice Tannen was now twenty-one and widely recognized as the richest woman in Hill Valley. Her reputation, however, was still very much as it had been four years ago, if not worse. But Bea was a businesswoman, she was tough. Little things like being rejected for a garden party or snubbed at a social event didn't bother her. Those things she knew she deserved.

No, what really bothered her was competition, especially of the female variety. You see, her business was built around men. Single men, unhappy men, horny men, drunk men: they kept her saloon up and running. The more women that made their way into Hill Valley, the less men that came through her doors. So imagine her frustration, her utter irritation, upon learning that a new woman had shown up in the middle of the night. Not only that, but this same woman had already succeeded in stealing the heart of the town doctor, a regular at her craps table!

So it was as a concerned businesswoman that she made her way over to Brown's Smithy. Concerned and rather angry.

* * *

1885—Hill Valley

November 26th

3:30 pm

"Here you are, Miss Tannen," Emmett said, handing her the necklace she had asked for.

"I'll send over payment later," Bea said, dropping the necklace into her handbag. "I trust that's alright."

"That's fine," Emmett said, nodding. "Have a nice day."

He turned and went back to his workbench.

Bea remained where she was. In her brain she was formulating the right words to say and figuring out just how much charm she would have to use to get what she wanted. It wouldn't be too hard, that she was sure of. Emmett Brown may be smart, but Bea knew she intimidated him. She did that to most men.

"I've been hearing the strangest rumors around town this afternoon," Bea began, slowly swishing her way over to him. "I was hoping you could clear a few things up for me."

"What do you mean?" Emmet asked, stopping what he had been doing.

"Don't be cute with me, Emmett Brown," Bea purred, leaning against the workbench and forcing him to look at her. "The boys tell me you have a daughter in town. True or false?"

"What difference does it make?"

Bea giggled and brushed some sawdust off Emmett's shoulder.

"I think we both know the answer to that."

Emmett looked at her and then sighed. There was no use in lying to her, she'd find out soon enough.

"My daughter's in town, yes."

"Really," Bea's blood pumped a little faster. Taking a deep breath, she continued, hoping for the best. "But she can't be as young as they say she is. After all, you're no spring chicken."

Emmett bristled but swallowed the insult he desperately wanted to throw her way.

"Why don't you see for yourself," he said calmly, "she's in back. Amelia!"

Amelia, fully clad in her new blue gingham dress, stepped out from the stables clearly ready to continue with their argument. When she saw they weren't alone her face softened and she bit her tongue. Smoothing out her skirt, Amelia moved forward and joined them at the workbench.

"So this is it, huh?" Bea remarked, giving Amelia the onceover.

"Beatrice Tannen, meet my daughter Amelia," Emmett said unenthusiastically.

Amelia looked at him. She felt her mouth fall open.

"Something wrong with you, Dearie?" Bea asked.

Amelia jumped and then dipped into hasty curtsey.

"No, sorry," she sputtered. "Hello, Miss Tannen."

Bea studied her for a long moment. Amelia shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. She felt like she was under a microscope.

"Brown," Bea said suddenly, turning to him, "be a dear and get my wagon for me. I want a word with your daughter."

Emmett looked at her apprehensively but left without saying anything.

"You're not as pretty as they said you were," Bea said as soon as she was sure they were alone. "Still, you're not bad. Why are you here, Miss Brown? To find a husband?"

"No," Amelia said, blinking at her. "I'm just visiting my father."

"Of course, how angelic of you," Bea snickered. "Come now, tell the truth."

"That is the truth," Amelia said softly.

Beatrice settled herself at the workbench. She was a shrewd woman, a calculating woman, and this little girl wasn't going to get the best of her. She hated women too much to allow that.

"Maybe I was wrong. The light is terrible in here, I couldn't see you properly. You're quite stunning the more I look at you." Beatrice leaned her chin on her hand and smiled enchantingly up at her. "How would you like to come and work for my little club?"

"Club?" Amelia asked.

"Yes," Bea beamed, blue eyes sparkling, "I own a saloon and gambling hall. We're always looking for new…talent…and I think you'd do just fine."

Amelia frowned. What did she mean by "talent"? Then it hit her. She meant girls, girls to entertain men while the gambled, girls to sleep with them if the price was right. Her stomach churned horribly. How could she suggest such a thing?

_Well, she is a Tannen after all…_

"I'm sorry Miss Tannen," Amelia apologized, "but I'm not that kind of girl."

Bea's face went from warm and inviting to stone in a matter of seconds.

"And what kind of girl is that, Miss Brown?"

"I…I just…I'm not…"

"A whore?" Bea asked coldly, getting to her feet and bearing down on her. "Listen to me, my dear, I'm not the person you want to cross in this town. You tell me that you're not _looking_ for a husband but the fact remains that you'll scoop up the first available man to cross your path. Don't bother saying otherwise because it's a bold face lie."

"Even if that were true, why does it bother you so much?" Amelia ventured carefully, backing up.

"It bothers me," Bea said venomously, "because I'm a woman who doesn't like to have things stolen from her! I own every man from here to Sacramento, do you understand? Your being here is doing nothing for my business. Unless, of course, you're willing to reconsider my offer?"

The last part was more a threat than an offer.

"No," Amelia said bravely, "I can't do what you're suggesting. I'm sorry."

"Your wagon's out front!" Emmett's called.

Beatrice straightened the lace on her jacket and glared at Amelia. So, this is how the child wanted to play. Very well, she was up for it. She would not allow her business to be compromised by some silly little girl barely out of pigtails. Sure, it would only be one man, but which one? If one of her higher profile guests stopped attending the saloon it could be guaranteed that eight or nine of his friends would follow suit. It was the nature of the beast.

"This isn't finished, Miss Brown," Beatrice hissed. "Welcome to Hill Valley."

Amelia watched her go, skin still crawling from the experience. How was it possible for all the Tannens to turn out exactly the same? Shouldn't nasty, conniving, arrogant, and evil skip at least a generation?

"How'd it go?" Emmet asked, rejoining her in the workshop.

Amelia looked at him.

"I think she liked me."


	6. Chapter 6

**After a very extensive analysis of exactly where I went wrong with this story and why I couldn't seem to be able to finish it, I concluded that it was because chapter 6 (the original chapter 6) was absolutely awful. Amelia would never have taken Marty's BS lying down. So, I fixed it. Here's the new and improved chapter 6. I hope you like it. More to come :)**

1885-Hill Valley

November 29th

11:00 am

Marty was tired of lying down. He was tired of anything associated with lying down. Beds, pillows, sheets, irritating housekeepers who brought you your meals and then hovered over you until you finished...it was all grating severely on his already frazzled nerves. He just wanted to be useful again, mobile, not some pathetic hunk of meat who couldn't even use the bathroom by himself. It was humiliating. The DeLorean needed to repaired and all he could do was stare at the ceiling, counting the knots in the wood paneling.

Without the luxury of electricity, Marty's days were limited in their excitements. Depending on how much morphine McKinney had dosed him with, the hours could stretch into what felt like years. In the silence of his room, Marty was confined to his thoughts. There weren't even any good books to pretend to read. All there was was silence and the never ending loop of his consciousness. It ran round and round in his mind, never quite going anywhere but driving him deeper into bitter irritability and self pity. McKinney would break the cycle every now and then to give him medication and check to make sure his leg wasn't festering off his calf, but Marty hardly thought of those times as a release. The doctor would spend every moment they were together praising Amelia's "delicate qualities". It hardly worked to negate Marty's foul mood. Even Amelia's daily visits, which should have provided him with something to look forward to, were soured. He was still angry with her.

Admittedly, he knew he was being childish. To have to pretend to be Amelia's brother for a few days wasn't that big of a deal, logically he knew that. But something inside of him coiled with irrational rage at the thought. McKinney's attraction to Amelia had awoken this primal part of him; Marty knew it by the way the beast hissed every time he was around. Still, Marty laid some of the blame with Amelia herself. If she had only thought ahead then Marty wouldn't have to listen to McKinney go on and on and on…

A soft rap on the door stirred Marty out of the half-sleep he had been fighting. Amelia's head poked through the crack.

"Did I wake you up?" she asked apologetically, shrinking back into the hallway.

"Not really," Marty said. He pushed himself up on his pillows, ignoring the pain that was threatening in his leg.

Amelia closed the door behind her and carefully lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. She looked around the room and heaved a sigh. There was a moment's silence. It hung heavy in the air.

"I would have been up earlier but McKinney kept talking. You know how he is." Her voice was thin and weary of him. Marty stared at her coolly but didn't answer. Amelia fiddled with a hole in his blanket. "Is your leg feeling better?"

"No."

"Can I get you anything?"

"No."

Amelia looked up at him, clearly poised to say something, but thought better of it. She pushed herself off the bed, crossed to the window, and threw open the curtains. The sun burned Marty's eyes. He squinted at her blackened figure, haloed by golden sunlight, and waited for her to speak.

"How long are you going to stay mad at me?" Amelia asked quietly.

"How long are we going to be related?" He saw her wince and half regretted being mean.

"I'm sorry, I was trying to save your life," Amelia said slowly, still facing out the window, "your pride wasn't really on my mind. Next time I won't be so stupid."

Marty could hear how much he had hurt her. It only annoyed him. His pride was all he had at the moment, couldn't she see that? The beast snarled angrily.

"I never said you were stupid," he snapped.

"You didn't need to!" Amelia almost yelled, spinning around to face him. Her eyes were flashing. "What do you want from me, Marty? I've already apologized a million times!"

"Do you know what I have to listen to all day?" Marty hissed, leaning forward as far as his leg would allow. "McKinney comes up here and chews my arm and leg off about how great you are, how pretty you are, how lucky a guy would be to have you…then he has the nerve to ask if you're seeing anybody. And what am I supposed to do? Ignoring him doesn't work, I can't tell him to shut the hell up, and I'm _not _setting you up with him. So I'm sorry if I'm a little pissed off at the moment."

Marty's voice had been rising steadily during this little speech. Now he sat there on the bed, chest heaving, glaring at Amelia who simply blinked at him in return.

"Let me get this straight," she said, working very hard to keep her tone even, "I'm getting yelled at because McKinney likes me?"

_She's mocking you_, the beast hissed.

"Yeah, it's real funny to you," Marty growled. "You don't have to sit here and—"

"Oh yeah, Marty, it's hilarious," Amelia snapped suddenly. "I can't believe you! I can't believe you're going to blame me for this! How am I supposed to control what people think, do you mind telling me that?"

Marty's face flushed.

"Well you didn't help the problem by announcing that you were single."

"I NEVER ANNOUNCED ANYTHING!" Amelia yelled, throwing her hands in the air. "But if you're going to keep acting like this I might have to!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Marty asked, suddenly desperate.

"Think about it, Marty," Amelia snapped, starting for the door.

"Where are you going?" He yelled after her.

"Away from you," she yelled back, "before you decide to pee on me."

The door slammed behind her and Marty was left alone again. In the silence that followed, Marty felt his anger slowly fading into regret. The beast whimpered pathetically and retreated back into the bowels of his being, embarrassed. He knew he shouldn't have said any of the things he did...he had known it before he spoke them. Now, with Amelia's anger still pulsing through the air, Marty knew he'd have to apologize. He wasn't looking forward to it.

* * *

It was Mrs. Gardner who knocked a few minutes later to tell him he was being released to Emmett's workshop. Marty imagined that had been Amelia's job, but in the heat of their argument she must have forgotten. That or she just hadn't cared anymore. He suspected that was most likely the case.

Leaning heavily on Mrs. Gardner's thick shoulder, Marty hobbled down the stairs and out onto the porch. He could see McKinney and Amelia already sitting atop the wagon. McKinney was talking animatedly to her, a boyish grin on his face, clearly in heaven. Amelia was giving him her full attention. Marty's presence went totally ignored. She bristled a little when she heard him limping across the sand to the wagon but otherwise took no notice. He knew he deserved it.

"Are we all ready to go, Mrs. Gardner?" McKinney called over his shoulder.

Mrs. Gardner finished arranging Marty's legs on a bed of blankets and stepped away from the wagon.

"Yes, sir," she said, breathing a little heavily, a thin line of perspiration forming on her upper lip.

McKinney cracked the whip and the horses started forward with a jolt. Over the rumble of the wheels Marty could hear the indistinct hum of McKinney's voice. Amelia's giggles punctuated crisp and clear above it, subtly mocking. Marty frowned…had she really meant what she said about them breaking up? But she wouldn't do that. He had been horrible and everything, but it was just one fight, their first fight. Surely it was an empty threat.

Right?


	7. Chapter 7

**READ AND REVIEW! I'VE MISSED YOU GUYS :)**

**DISCLAIMER: Yeah...this ain't mine.**

**Author's Note**

**If you haven't read the new and improved chapter 6 GO DO IT NOW! You don't _have _to, but you should_. _Just sayin'. Anyway, here we go, chapter 7. Hopefully this marks my return to and the completion of this series. Hopefully. Please, God, let me finish it! **

**You guys are the best! Please enjoy and don't forget to tell me what you think :)**

1885—Hill Valley

November 29

11:45 am

They pulled up outside of Emmett's shop just before noon. Amelia hopped down from the wagon seat and hurried inside to her father. Behind her, she heard McKinney trying to wrestle Marty out of the bed. A squeal of pain cut through the air and Amelia felt a sadistic sense of satisfaction. _Serves you right, you big jerk._

She was still fuming from their fight earlier. She had never pegged Marty for the jealous type, but she had been wrong about people before…Jennifer, for example. Still, how could he sit there and say those things to her? Like she _wanted_ attention from McKinney, like she could control what his creepy pedophile mind thought! She meant what she had said. If Marty couldn't get a handle on his jealousy she would leave, she would have to. The relationship wouldn't be fair to either of them. Amelia didn't particularly like the idea, in fact it made her feel like the floor had been pulled out from under her, but if that's what it came to…

Amelia heard voices inside the shop and slowed her pace to a walk. Cautiously, in case it was Miss Tannen again, she stepped through the already open doors. To her great relief it was not. Emmett was leaning against the workbench talking to a very tall gentleman in a brown silk coat. They both turned when they heard her enter. Amelia's heart somersaulted in her chest. The man her father was with was absolutely beautiful. His face was chiseled, angular, but still full enough to avoid appearing skeletal. He had deep, clear blue eyes, kind eyes, each one framed by a fan of midnight lashes. Amelia thought he looked like the Roman sculptures they had studied last semester in art class. He might have passed for one too, had he not been tanned a rich golden caramel.

Amelia suddenly got the impression that she was not the only one staring. The stranger's eyes were lingering on her face, studying her as intently as she had studied him. Amelia's cheeks burned. A brilliantly white smile broke across the stranger's face.

"And who's this, Emmett?" he asked in a husky tenor.

"This is my daughter, Amelia." Emmett grinned at her encouragingly. Amelia's blush deepened

With an elegant sweep of his arm, the man removed his cream colored cowboy hat. A shock of honey colored hair fell roguishly into his eyes.

"Jackson Hubert," he purred, delicately taking Amelia's hand in his. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Brown."

Amelia smiled stupidly at him. She knew she was expected to say something, but she couldn't for the life of her remember how to speak. A panicky feeling began to creep up on her. _Just open your mouth, you idiot!_

Marty, begrudgingly allowing Dr. McKinney to support him, hobbled in at that moment. Jackson released Amelia's hand, his attention temporarily (mercifully) directed elsewhere. He watched curiously as McKinney lead Marty over to a stool and balanced him there.

"Afternoon, Artemus," Jackson said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

McKinney gave a violent start that almost knocked Marty off of his stool. His eyes met Jackson's with a cool, contemptuous look. He nodded curtly.

"Hubert."

Amelia felt the aura around Jackson shift. He was tense, vibrating with the same electric energy a rattlesnake has just before it strikes. She glanced from him to McKinney, who was also on his guard. Amelia suddenly felt very awkward. She wasn't the only one. Behind them at the workbench, Emmett gave a little cough. He wasn't particularly interested in the history the two men shared, he just didn't want to have to clean one of them off the floor.

Jackson broke the stare with more than a little reluctance. He placed his hat back atop his head and turned towards Amelia. Her hand was poised inches below his lips before she knew what was happening.

"I hope we meet again, Miss Brown." He laid a gentle kiss on the top of her hand. Amelia's arm tingled. "I'll call tomorrow with my horse, Emmett."

Then, with another mocking smile at McKinney, Jackson swept gracefully from the shop.

The cloud of dust he had kicked up swirled violently in his wake. Amelia watched it in a daze, still smiling stupidly. An involuntary giggle escaped her. Breathlessly, she turned to address her father and caught both Marty and McKinney staring at her. Neither of them looked very amused.

"What?" she asked, startled.

"You really shouldn't get mixed up with somebody like Jackson Hubert, Miss Brown," McKinney said seriously. "He's not all he appears."

"Yeah, Aims, stay away from him," Marty agreed quickly. Amelia shot him a look.

"Who says I want to get 'mixed up' with anybody?" She snapped, rounding on McKinney. He shrunk from her slightly. "I swear to God! It doesn't matter what dimension I'm in, you men are all the same!"

She turned on her heel and stalked off toward the stable she had adopted as a bedroom.

"What do you suppose she meant by that?" McKinney asked with a frown.

Marty and Emmett exchanged a glance. Emmett shrugged.

"She's just not into you, big guy," Marty said sadly.

McKinney blinked at him, confused.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah," Marty nodded solemnly. This was an opportunity too good to pass up. "Positive. Now help me to bed, will ya?"

* * *

_When I get back to 1985 I'm buying fish and moving to Antarctica. Maybe that would __make them happy, if I lived on an iceberg or something. Then they wouldn't have to worry about who I was talking to!_

Amelia kicked at the corner of her makeshift hay bale bed. Her foot connected with a very unsatisfying _thooft. _She tried to slam the door but it got stuck on the track. Giving up, she collapsed face first onto her quilt. She had intended to throw the world's largest adult tantrum, but the moment had passed. Amelia's anger melted into sulkiness. She flipped onto her back and stared at the sky through the bars of the stable window. 1885 was turning out to be a huge bust.

"I'm sensing some hostility."

Amelia sat up on her elbows. Emmett was hovering in the doorway. He had a slightly amused look on his face, a look that read "I think it's time for a father-daughter chat". Amelia flopped back down with a heavy sigh. Emmett slid the door closed (_really, now it works?_) and sat next to her on the hay bale.

"What was that all about?" He asked, watching her carefully.

Amelia blew a strand of hair out of her face. She really didn't want to talk about it.

"Nothing, Dad," she mumbled.

"That didn't sound like nothing. Come on, out with it."

Amelia pushed herself up again. Emmett waited patiently.

"It's just…Marty…I don't know." She fell silent again and picked at a few pieces of straw.

Emmett nodded slowly. He cleared his throat.

"You know he cares about you. Quite a bit, I might add."

Amelia snorted.

"He does," Emmett insisted. "Now, I don't know what happened between you two, but I'm sure it's not worth staying angry over. Not with everything else that's going on."

"But, Dad, he—"

Emmett held up his hand.

"It's none of my business," he said. "All I wanted to say was not to write him off so quickly. You two are still trying to figure each other out…mistakes are bound to happen and you can't just call it quits when they do. What would have happened if I'd given up trying to invent the time machine?"

Amelia raised an eyebrow at him.

"Perhaps that was a poor example," Emmett said, eyes glittering mischievously. Amelia giggled. "Talk to him."

"I'll do what I can, Daddy."

"Good girl." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. Satisfied with his paternal advice, he switched gears. "Now, about the car. We need to get out to the crash site. The longer is sits out there in the elements the more repairs we'll have to make. We'll go tonight, you and me. I think it would be best to try and transport the car while it's dark."

"Probably good," Amelia agreed. She imagined the looks they would get trying to push the broken DeLorean through downtown Hill Valley during the day. For some reason the Salem Witch Trials kept coming to mind.

"Alright then, we'll head out at sunset.' Emmett stood up. He pushed open the stable door then paused. Turning, he added, "They're right, you know, about Jackson Hubert. You need to be careful around him. Don't let his charm fool you, his reputation is notorious."

"Dad—"

"I know, I know…just a friendly warning."

Emmett raised his eyebrows knowingly and left, closing the door behind him.

* * *

From his cot in the corner of the workshop, Marty waited eagerly for Emmett to come out of Amelia's room. He really wanted to talk to him. Surely he'd know if Amelia hated his guts or not.

"Well, Doc?" Marty asked as soon as Emmett had rejoined him. "What's the verdict?"

"About?"

"C'mon, Doc, you could see how angry she was."

Emmett considered him for a moment with a smile. These young people and their "problems" never ceased to amuse him.

"Well, I don't think you need to file the divorce papers just yet."

Marty didn't laugh.

"Seriously, Doc."

"I'm being perfectly serious, Marty," Emmett said. "She'll come around. But I get the feeling that an apology is in order from you as well."

"Yeah…I said some things…" Marty's voice trailed off. He thought of Jackson Hubert's irritating handsome face and scowled. "But she owes me one too! You saw how she was giggling over What's-His-Name. I mean, how's a guy not supposed to get jealous of _that!_"

"Marty, you have nothing to fear from Jackson Hubert," Emmett said. He was trying to remain solemn for the sake of Marty's ego, but his eyes were glittering in a way that betrayed him. Luckily, Marty didn't notice.

"The man could be the poster-child for perfect chins! How can you say I've got nothing to worry about?"

Emmett shook his head.

"I suspect this is why Amelia is upset with you. Marty, you need to get over whatever insecurities you have. I didn't raise an invalid. She can take care of herself. And if she cares about you like I imagine she does then she won't do anything that might hurt you."

Marty closed his mouth, ashamed. He had done it again. He was getting to be quite the professional at running his mouth off.

"You're right, Doc. I…you're right." Marty sighed. He sat quietly for a minute. Emmett picked up a broken watch from his workbench and started tinkering with it. Marty adjusted himself on the cot. With feigned disinterest he asked, "So what's up with this Jackson guy anyway?"

"He's the mayor's son," Emmett said, head bent over the work surface. "As far as I can tell he's the most educated man in Hill Valley…apart from his father. He owns a cattle ranch a few miles outside of town. He's got a bad reputation, but that's to be expected with all the money his family throws at him."

"Bad reputation? Like what?"

"She'll be fine, Marty."

Emmett's tone was will with so much finality that Marty was forced to swallow the protest that had been on the tip of his tongue. He nodded in agreement and lay back on his cot. The wound on his leg itched dully; he scratched it with his toe. Marty closed his eyes and listened to the clinking of Emmett's tools. Deep inside him the beast stirred feebly, poking its head out of the cave it had receded into.

_Knock it off,_ he told it, _you've caused enough trouble. Just keep your stupid mouth shut from now on. Doc's right, she doesn't need you to save her from herself._


	8. Chapter 8

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**Disclaimer: Non-a-dis is mine, foo**

**Author's Note**

**Thanks for the reviews, guys! I love hearing your feedback so keep 'em coming! I want to give a shout out to my reader, and pen name twin, xoxoMyRealityIsFiction (paternal twin haha). You guys should check out her stuff, it's pretty awesome.**

**Happy Reading! **

1885—Hill Valley

November 29th

9:45pm

As soon as it was dark enough Amelia led Emmett to the spot where she and Marty had been forced to abandon the DeLorean. It was a strangely serious ride out. Neither of them spoke other than to give directions. Amelia thought it felt more like they were visiting a grave than looking for a car. She started to laugh but the look on Emmett's face stopped her. His jaw was set, his eyes grim and unsure, and Amelia guessed he was bracing himself for the worst. It probably wasn't a bad idea. The last time Amelia had seen it, the car had looked like it had taken a nose dive off the Empire State Building. And that was before it had spent almost a week as an open air outhouse for God-knows-what kind of animal. The chance of improvement was…slim.

The sky was overcast and the moon had buried itself behind a thick bank of clouds. Their only source of light was a dingy oil lamp and Amelia had to squint to see anything farther than her nose. For a long while, longer than she remembered it being, the carriage rumbled along across flat land. Just when she was beginning to think that they were either lost or riding in circles, Amelia caught sight of something very large and black rising up out of the darkness.

"There, that's it."

Emmett steered the wagon toward the rock. As they drew closer the car seemingly materialized out of thin air. From where they were it looked eerily like a crushed soda can. Amelia saw Emmett's face blanch. He spurred the horses on, eager to see the extent of the damage and gauge just how much of a heart attack he needed to have.

Emmett stopped the horses about ten feet from the rock. He clumsily jumped from the driver's seat and staggered toward the time machine, mouth gaping.

"Great Scott…" He looked from the car to Amelia, who winced apologetically.

The DeLorean lay just as she and Marty had left it, sad and mangled against the rock that had been its end. The hazard lights were no longer blinking and Amelia guessed the battery had died days ago. In what appeared to be the car's final attempt at saving itself, the hood had popped open like a large metallic S.O.S. flag. A gust of wind caught it and the hood creaked pathetically back and forth on broken hinges. It was much worse than Amelia remembered it being. Suddenly the feeling of visiting a grave wasn't so ridiculous…although the scene reminded her more of a murder than a funeral. Amelia had a strange desire to outline the car with chalk.

Between the pieces of broken glass surrounding the car, Amelia could see a smattering of tiny footprints. Some of them ran up the DeLorean's side, disappearing near the gaping hole that had once been a window. She sincerely hoped that whatever had been there was long gone. Finding a raccoon in the flux capacitor, while hilarious, would probably not go over very well with her father…all things considered.

Emmett picked his way through the debris field of glass. Gingerly, he ran his hand over the roof of the car, petting it like a sick dog. The car groaned. A few pieces of glass that had managed to cling to the windshield dropped lamely to the sand. Emmett muttered something under his breath, more to the car than Amelia, and tried to open the driver's side door. It didn't move.

"Yeah…that's broke," Amelia said obviously.

Emmett slid his torso through the window. A few moments later her emerged, a slightly more relaxed look on his face. He was also, thankfully, rodent free.

"The flux capacitor and the time circuits still seem to be in order," he said with relief. "I can't turn them on, of course, the battery's expired, but at least they don't seem to be ruined. We'll have to come up with a way of powering the car before I'm completely sure, however. As for the rest of the car…" Emmett stood back and surveyed the mess with sad eyes, "well, she's seen much better days."

The two somehow managed to push the car off of the rock and into a more accessible expanse of desert. Emmett came up with the brilliant plan of hitching the horses to the car's frame and driving it into town like a wagon. Amelia didn't particularly like the idea of having to ride a horse bareback while in a dress, but as one of the DeLorean's murderers she wasn't really in a position to complain.

"How are we going to power this thing without a battery?" Amelia yelled over the pounding of hooves as they rode back toward Hill Valley.

"We'll have to create our own supply of electricity," Emmett yelled back.

"Yeah, but how? Is that even possible right now?"

"Nothing is ever _im_possible," he said matter-of-factly. "It's just a matter of building something that can supply us with the amount of horsepower we need. If anything sets up back it would be that."

Amelia hoped he was right.

* * *

Marty was still awake when they got back. He sat fully alert on the edge of his cot and watched as Emmet and Amelia, she manning the steering wheel and he bringing up the rear, slowly pushed the car into the middle of the shop. Marty was suddenly glad his leg prevented him from manual labor. Judging by the sweat dripping down Emmett's face it wasn't that great of a job. Maybe he'd just stop feeling sorry for himself and stick to the light stuff; passing tools or whatever.

Marty's eyes flicked to Amelia and his stomach did a somersault. He wondered how long it would be before she cooled down enough to accept the apology he knew he owed her.

Amelia felt Marty's eyes on her and tried not to look in his direction. She felt that if they made eye contact they would be forced to talk about their feelings, and she was much too tired and grumpy for that. She'd make nice in the morning. Tonight, however, she just wanted to get the car hidden and go to sleep.

On her father's orders, Amelia steered the DeLorean toward the far corner of the shop across from the stables. There they parked it. Exhausted, Amelia slid down the side of the car and onto the soft sawdust of the floor.

"That's the last time I'm ever pushing that car," she panted, wiping sweat from her forehead.

"I feel you may be counting your chickens," Emmett said. "Excuse me."

He began covering the car with a tarp and Amelia was forced to move. Too tired to stand, she rolled out of the way. Her skirts stirred the dust into big rolling clouds. Emmett coughed.

Marty, meanwhile, was watching everything Emmett was doing nervously. His mouth was very dry. Was nobody going to fill him in?

"How is she, Doc? Did we totally kill her?" Marty impatiently called from across the room.

"Well," Emmett stopped covering the car for a moment, carefully trying to find words that wouldn't sound too accusatory. Unfortunately, the fender chose that very moment to fall off. It hit the floor with a loud metallic _clang_. There was no point sugarcoating it. "Yes, I'd have to say you killed her."

"But you said you didn't know that for sure," Amelia said, lifting her head off the floor and looking at him with horror.

"I don't," Emmett sighed. Amelia's fear ebbed. She lay down again.

"So what's up?" Marty asked. "What do we have to do?"

"That," Emmett said, tossing the last corner of the tarp over the car, "we'll figure out tomorrow. It's late."

"You mean you're not going to start tonight?"

Emmett met Amelia and Marty's expectant stares with a calm yet drained smile.

"No, I don't think I will. It's already almost eleven thirty and unfortunately I have to open shop at five a.m."

"Can't you close it for the day? You own the place for God's sake," Amelia said, indignantly. "Who'll be here at five in the morning anyway?"

"Jackson Hubert," Emmett said. "He's bringing his horse to be shoed."

"That jerk?" Marty scoffed. "C'mon, Doc, you don't have to open the store just for that. Tell him to shoe his own horse."

"I wish I could, Marty. But unfortunately he has something that I desperately need if we'll have any chance of getting back to 1985."

"What could that guy possibly have that we need?" Marty asked incredulously.

"Money," Emmett said simply.

Amelia and Marty stared at him. He shrugged as if to say _"Well…it's true"_. Then he yawned and bade them both goodnight.

With Emmett gone, the shop fell uncomfortably quiet. For the first time since their fight that morning, Marty and Amelia were alone. Neither of them spoke. Marty coughed. Amelia ignored it. It was too late, she told herself. If they started to get into it now she'd just end up yelling at him. _In the morning, do it in the morning. _Amelia pushed herself off of the floor and shook the sawdust out of her hair. The tiny flecks danced around her like stardust. She headed for her stable without saying a word.

Marty sighed and began to make himself comfortable for bed. _Better luck next time, I guess_, he thought bitterly.

"Goodnight, Aims," he muttered to himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**READ AND REVIEW MY DAHLINGS :)**

**Author's Note**

**I would like to apologize for any typos in this chapter. I seriously pulled an all-nighter to write this...I couldn't stop. Then by the time I got around to checking spelling and grammar I couldn't see haha. Occupational hazard.**

**Happy Reading**

1885—Hill Valley

November 30th

5:05 am

Jackson Hubert was the kind of man who was used to getting what he wanted. For twenty-five years things had been handed to him. Money, land, women; he hadn't had to work for any of it. Jackson's life consisted primarily of drinking and gambling away his family's money, and he was very good at it. He never kept tabs on his debts personally, he had an accountant for that, but he imagined that he was the Silver Dove saloon's biggest investor. It was a very attractive lifestyle.

His family, particularly his father the mayor, had a different opinion. For reasons that escaped Jackson, they did not find his current situation altogether appropriate for the son of a public official. They had been hoping that he would sew his wild oats and then settle down with some delicate little mouse of a girl, have the expected number of children, and conduct himself as a man of his position ought. But at twenty-five, Jackson's wild behavior was beginning to try his family's patience, and three days previous Mayor Hubert had offered his son an ultimatum; marry a nice girl of decent social credibility or be cut off.

Jackson hated ultimatums. Especially ones that ended horribly no matter which route he chose.

The birds were just beginning to sing in the day. Jackson was fully awake, the bed was too uncomfortable for him to ever really fall asleep to begin with. He lay bare-chested, an arm under his head, listening to a dog bark somewhere below the window. Outside of his room the girls were moving about, their doors opening and closing as they sent their hung-over customers back to their wives for the day. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, blowing smoke out of his nose. Next to him, Bea stirred. The sheet covering her slipped low on her naked torso. Jackson stared unashamedly and puffed his cigarette.

"Isn't it a little early to be smoking?" Bea murmured, blue eyes twinkling.

Jackson smirked and passed her the smoke. She wrapped her cherry red lips around it, sucking in. He was suddenly very envious of the cigarette.

"Why are you up so early?" she asked.

"I couldn't sleep," he said, watching the smoke twist and curl around the locks of her golden hair. "Also, I have business this morning."

Bea rolled her eyes and dropped the butt of the cigarette into a half empty glass of whiskey on the bedside table. It died with a quick hiss.

Jackson pulled her to him and kissed her roughly. Bea slid on top of him, her ivory smooth body cool and inviting. His fingertips trailed down the sides of her thighs. Bea giggled into his mouth and ground against him. Jackson felt her heat, felt his own desire rising like mercury in a thermometer, and changed his mind. He didn't have time this morning; Bea would just have to wait. He had an appointment with Brown to have his horse shoed.

More importantly, he had an appointment with Brown's charming daughter…even if she didn't know it yet. Jackson had been quite taken with the girl (_what had been her name? Abigail?_) and knew his family would feel likewise. Now there was just the issue of charming her into marriage, but, in all honesty, how much of an issue would that be _really_?

Truthfully, Jackson felt a little bad for Bea as he rolled her off of him and back onto her side of the bed. She was convinced he was in love with her, he could tell by the way she looked at him. He thought love was stupid; a stupid emotion for stupid people, and consequentially Bea had diminished a little in his eyes. Still, he admired her ambition and cutthroat attitude and that kept her at the top of a very short list of people he could tolerate. Hurting her, as he knew a "socially acceptable" marriage would do, would bother him, but no more than a splinter or hangnail; sharp and biting to begin with but quickly forgotten. She'd get over it. It was all business.

Jackson slid out of bed and began getting dressed. Bea lay on the mattress like the Queen of Sheba, watching him.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I have to get my horse shoed," he said. He poured water into the basin on the dresser top and splashed some on his face.

Bea was quiet a moment.

"I met Brown's daughter the other day."

"Yes, so did I."

Another pause; the scrape of Jackson's cutthroat was deafening. The air in the room was suddenly oppresive and heavy. He could feel Bea's eyes burning the back of his head, trying to see into his thoughts. _Always suspicious, Beatrice._

When she spoke again it was quiet and fainting pleading.

"Shall you come tonight?"

"Don't I always?" Jackson asked, turning around, a mischievous smile playing on his mouth.

"No complaints here," Bea smirked.

Jackson left the Silver Dove a little after five thirty. He knew Bea would be at the window, watching him mount his horse. He didn't turn around.

* * *

Amelia woke up shivering. The bars on her stable/bedroom window were hardly enough to protect her from the early morning dew. She didn't even know it was possible for California to be so cold. Where was this during the day when they needed it?

Annoyed and awake, Amelia decided she might as well get up. She pulled a clean dress, a muted green cotton, over her head and attempted to put her hair up. It refused to cooperate, frizzing in strange places. Amelia gave up. She brushed through the strands with her fingers and let them hang loose on her shoulders. _What does it matter_, she thought with irritation, _its 1885 and we're in a desert. Nobody looks good._

She gave a little start when she walked into the shop and saw Marty sitting awake on his cot. He was busy shoveling breakfast into his face and didn't see her until she was nearly on top of him.

"Oh," he said, a bit of food dangling from the corner of his mouth, "you're up early."

"Yeah, well, I didn't really have a choice," Amelia said, sitting on the edge of the cot. "It's a meat locker in my room."

Marty's face lit up.

"Hey, you're talking to me! Does that mean hell has frozen over?" Marty was beaming. Amelia tried to glare at him but couldn't. She smiled despite herself.

"Marty, I'm sor-"

"No," Marty cut her off, wiping his face clean and scooting closer to her, "don't apologize. I mean, you can if you really want to, but I need to go first. I was a totally jerk, Aims. I felt bad for myself and I took it out on you. I shouldn't have said…well…anything that I said." He picked up her hand and held it gently. "I'm sorry I was an asshole."

He stared at her with large, sincere eyes. Amelia's heart melted. He was impossible to stay mad at…and she had really wanted to this time…

"You really were an asshole, Marty," Amelia said solemnly, brushing the hair back from his forehead. He smiled at her.

"Yeah…it was not good."

"You gave Biff a run for his money."

"That bad, huh?"

Amelia's grin widened. She moved closer to him, her mouth inches from his.

"Well," she whispered, "maybe not _that _bad."

Amelia lightly pressed her lips to his.

"Does this mean we're not fighting anymore?" Marty asked pulling away suddenly. Perhaps she had some sneak attack fight up her sleeve and this was all misdirection. It wasn't implausible; Jennifer had done it all the time. Amelia kissed him again, harder, and Marty knew he was in the clear. "Gotcha."

He grabbed her around the waist and the two of them tumbled back onto the cot. Amelia yelped and then fell into a fit of giggles as Marty nibbled the sensitive skin between her shoulder and neck. His tongue flicked across her earlobe and Amelia's breathing hitched. Marty took the flesh between his teeth, tugging lightly. He purred into her ear; a low, guttural sound that Amelia had never heard from him before. It sparked something in her and her blood ran hot. She leaned into him, wanting to feel more of his mouth on her skin. He obliged silently, kissing her down her chest, undoing the delicate buttons of her dress and tonguing the milky mounds of her breasts. Amelia mewed and arched her back. He slid his hands underneath her, scooping her skirts up around her thighs. His fingers twitched the band of her pantalettes.

"What if my father comes in?" Amelia asked breathlessly. Marty's hands started peeling away the thin layer of cotton concealing her.

"He went to the bathroom just before you came out," Marty said, snaking his way down her body. Amelia's pantalette's hung around her knees. "He took a Popular Mechanics with him. I'm betting it'll be a while."

With a roguish smile, Marty head disappeared under the pouf of her skirts. She felt his lips draw across the insides of her thighs and shuddered. He was dangerously close…too close…how had he gotten there? They had just been talking and then all of a sudden—

Amelia heard voices and sat bolt upright. Her knee connected with the side of Marty's head. With an _oomph _he fell backwards, clutching his right eye. She yanked her underwear up and clumsily rolled off of the cot and onto her feet.

"What the hell, Aims?" Marty asked, gingerly testing the area around his eye.

"Shh!" she said sharply, hurrying to the window above the workbench. "Somebody's outside. I told you we'd get caught!"

"First of all," Marty said, pushing himself back onto the bed and covering the bulge in his pants with a pillow, "you never said that. Second of all, we didn't get caught!"

"Shh!" Amelia said again. Marty rolled his eyes. "It's Dad and that Hubert guy. They're coming!"

Jackson Hubert, followed closely by Emmett, strolled casually into the shop. His gaze drifted idly from Marty, who nodded tersely, to the misshapen lump of the car before falling on Amelia. He smiled, the sun dried skin around his eyes crinkling, and Amelia felt her stomach jolt. She couldn't help it. Even the ecstasy of being made up with Marty couldn't change the fact that Jackson Hubert was impossibly beautiful.

"Good morning, Miss Brown," Jackson said huskily, offering her a slight bow of his head.

"Mr. Hubert." Amelia smiled back, a tint rising to her cheeks involuntarily. She caught sight of Marty out of the corner of her eye. He looked like somebody had just forced him to drink sour milk.

"I've just spoken to your father and he's agreed to let me take you out for the morning." Jackson's grin widened. Amelia looked at her father. He gave a disparaging little smile. She frowned at him. Jackson's smile faltered a little. "Is there something wrong? Is that disagreeable to you?"

Emmett was shaking his head violently over Jackson's shoulder. He mouthed words to her she couldn't understand but knew meant she had to go with him, like it or not. Amelia was confused. Hadn't her father said _not _to accociate with Hubert? Why the sudden change of heart?

"No," Amelia said, meeting Jackson's gaze again. "That will be just fine."

"Marvelous! I have my wagon out front. Hopefully by the time we return your father will have finished shoeing my horse."

"Of course," Emmett said with a nod. He mouthed a very clear "Thank You" to Amelia the moment Jackson looked away.

"Shall we?"

He offered Amelia his arm and she begrudgingly took it. Jackson might be ridiculously good looking and charming, but the vague allusions to his reputation had Amelia worried. Having to spend the morning with him hardly appealed to her. She shot Marty a withering glance. To her surprise his sour milk face had changed to one of high amusement.

"Have fun, Sis," he said, waving at her. Amelia noted his eye was already turning an angry red. Clearly, he was interpreting this as an act of karma. _Well, you didn't want him to be jealous anymore, Aims..._

Amelia stuck her tongue out at Marty. She could hear him laughing all the way to Jackson's rig.


	10. Chapter 10

**READ AND REVIEW MY DEARS!**

**Author's Note**

**Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! I love 'em! Enjoy the chapter. It's not my favorite but...c'est la vie**

1885—Hill Valley

November 30th

6:20 am

Marty had never witnessed Emmett's scientific process before, not first hand anyway. He and Amelia had only ever seen the finished product. When everything was said and done, that's when Emmett would triumphantly appear to explain his findings. There was something strangely magical in the elusive way Emmett conducted his experiments. Marty preferred it that way. It was one of the last great mysteries of his adolescent life. Realistically, he knew he was being silly, but at seventeen there were very few things that the little boy in him had to cling to. So when Emmett uncovered the DeLorean and began fiddling with the gears Marty felt his heart drop in disappointment. He was about to witness the end of his childhood imaginings; and he had thought the news about Santa Claus had been hard to swallow.

"Do you need any help, Doc?" Marty asked, more to be polite than anything.

"Not at the moment, Marty," Emmett said, head buried in the engine, "just doing some preliminary diagnostics."

"Oh."

Marty leaned back on the cot and heaved a sigh. He watched a spider scuttle across the beams above his head. It tripped lightly to its web and began devouring the fly caught there. His thoughts drifted to Amelia; he wondered what kind of a time she was having with Jackson. While Marty still wasn't particularly thrilled with the idea of her spending time with other guys, he wasn't going to risk another huge fight by showing it. He trusted her, and if their last encounter was any indication she was beginning to trust him too. Jackson may be a pig, and Marty was thoroughly convinced that he was, but he surely wasn't stupid. He wouldn't try anything out in the open. At the moment, she was safe…and Marty needed to relax.

* * *

Jackson wouldn't take no for an answer; he was determined to show Amelia everything Hill Valley had to offer. Thankfully, that wasn't all that much. The town was still very much under construction and only about a half-mile long from beginning to end. Along Main Street (the _only _street) ran all the shops and amenities Hill Valley needed. If you started at Brown's Smithy and headed left you would find a gentleman's tailor, William and Sons General Store, a land office, Hill Valley Bank and Trust, a telegraph office, and the county jail. Working your way back up the street on the right was the Hill Valley train station, The Silver Dove Saloon, a stagecoach depot, a very smart two-story hotel called _The Lydia_, and a barber.

Amelia was driven past each one of the shops in turn and forced to gaze with false interest at the buildings as Jackson chattered happily away next to her. He was a charming companion, very obliging and gentlemanly, but everything he said was seasoned with an inflated sense of self-importance. He spoke of Hill Valley with an arrogance that suggested he felt he owned it. _He probably does,_ she thought as he rambled on and on about horses or something equally boring, _didn't they say he was a big deal or something? Well, that would explain the ego. _

Jackson's abrupt laugh startled Amelia back into reality. She giggled uncertainly.

"Don't you think so?" He asked her when he had caught his breath.

"What?" Amelia suddenly realized she hadn't been paying attention to a thing he had actually been talking about.

"About the Indians," Jackson said. "This land is a goldmine and they're not even aware of it. I can't see why they're putting up so much of a fight for it. Now we, civilized man, we know what can be accomplished with land like this. The Indians will just let it all go to waste. They're better off taking what we give them before they all get themselves killed; although that would hardly be a tragedy if you ask me."

Amelia gaped at him.

"But we took this from them," she said indignantly. "It was their land first."

Jackson's smile was full of sympathetic condescension.

"Isn't that just like a woman, always the peacemaker. You'll see, Miss Brown, they'll be happier on the settlements we provide them."

If the past twenty minutes hadn't convinced her that Jackson Hubert was a spoiled brat, that speech certainly had. Amelia sat back on the seat, feeling insulted and ready to be rid of him.

Jackson continued to talk to her, oblivious to the fact that he had said anything remotely wrong. The wagon rumbled along. Occasionally, somebody would bid them a good morning and Jackson would stop, prolonging a trip that already felt painfully like an eternity to Amelia. When they finally made it back to the end of the street where Emmett's shop was, Amelia was all but ready to throw herself out of the wagon.

"It was lovely talking to you, Mr. Hu—" Amelia began, gathering her skirts around her and standing up.

"Oh, we're not done, Miss Brown. You haven't seen the courthouse yet. It's nearly completed."

Amelia had seen the courthouse. She'd seen it at least a thousand times from the barred window of her bedroom, but she sat back down all the same. If Emmett found out she had been rude he wouldn't be happy.

The unfinished Hill Valley courthouse capped off the east end of the street. Its partial shadow loomed over Brown's Smithy and the barber shop, making them look tiny and unimportant in comparison. A spindly mass of scaffolding climbed up the incomplete walls like wooden ivy, stretching to cover every inch of the building's facade. Several men were already entangled in the crisscrossing web, hard at work spreading mortar and laying bricks. They waved down at Jackson.

Jackson stopped the wagon just before the stone steps of the courthouse. Amelia gazed up the front of the building. An empty socket, the future location of the courthouse's clock, stared back at her, black and unseeing. It was eerie not having the shining moon face of the clock smiling down at her. Amelia didn't like it.

"My family commissioned it," Jackson said proudly, settling back in his seat and admiring what he clearly thought was his own handiwork. "What do you think?"

Before Amelia had a chance to answer, four men emerged from between the legs of the scaffolding. They were led by an elderly gentleman in a dark grey suite and impeccably shined boots. His round, grandfatherly face spread in a brilliant smile when he saw Jackson's wagon.

"Hullo, m'boy!" He called gaily from the top of the steps. "Come to see what your father is up to, eh?"

Amelia looked from the man on the stairs to Jackson and had to swallow the urge to laugh. _That_ was Jackson's father? That barrel-chested, stout old man with the gleaming bald patch and wiry mutton-chop whiskers was the father of the town playboy? She almost couldn't believe it. _Perhaps he gets his looks from his mother… _

"Just giving the grand tour," Jackson said, nodding toward Amelia. "This is Miss Brown, Father, daughter of the blacksmith."

Mayor Hubert and his entourage skipped down the steps and came to the side of the wagon. They all took turns shaking Amelia's hand.

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Brown," Mayor Hubert said. Amelia noted he had the same twinkling blue eyes and dazzling smile as his son. _Ok, so it's not all the mother. _"How does our little town suite you?"

"It's very nice," Amelia said. Mayor Hubert and his gaggle of underlings smiled up at her expectantly, clearly unsatisfied with the simplicity of the compliment. Amelia coughed and cast around for what to say. "It just might be the biggest town I've seen out west."

That appeased them. They laughed appreciatively.

"Will you be attending the festival tomorrow night, Miss Brown?" Mayor Hubert asked, his eyes darting between her and Jackson.

"Festival?" Amelia frowned.

One of Hubert's men gestured behind her. Amelia turned. A banner was stretched between her father's shop and the barber. In big red letters it read: Celebrate History! Hill Valley Clock Tower Festival, November 31st. The sign was huge; she wondered how she had missed it before.

"You really should come," Hubert urged, nodding enthusiastically at his son.

"I hadn't really thought about it," Amelia said. _At all, actually, since I just found out…_

"I was hoping," Jackson hummed next to her, his voice oozing charm, "that you'd allow me to escort you."

Amelia blinked at him. Had he really just done that to her; asked her something like that in front of all those people? Yes, the smile that played on his lips said he knew _exactly _what he had done. She could feel Mayor Hubert and his posse staring at her, waiting for her answer. If she said "no" now she'd look horribly rude. Not to mention she'd probably be the first girl in the history of Hill Valley who had ever turned down anything Jackson Hubert was offering. Rejecting the town heartthrob was sure to draw some unwanted attention to the Browns. Amelia didn't think her father would appreciate nosey housewives poking around his shop while he was trying to reinvent a time machine. The jerk had caught her. He was clearly more intelligent and conniving than she had giving him credit for.

_Well played, Jackson._

"Sure," Amelia said, trying to play off her budding agitation as indifference.

"Wonderful!" Mayor Hubert said, beaming up at them. His followers nodded their approval. "I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Brown."

Jackson bade his father goodbye and cracked the reigns. The wagon lurched forward. Amelia scowled down at her boots, she didn't like being outsmarted.

"Will you have lunch with me later at my ranch?" Jackson asked after a moment of quiet. "You'd love it, I assure you."

Was this really happening? Amelia didn't look at him. She was afraid if she did she'd start yelling.

"My father needs me."

"Nonsense," Jackson scoffed. He stopped the horses in front of Emmett's shop and turned to face her. Amelia looked up finally, forced to. Her defense wavered under the gaze of his electric blue eyes. _Knock it off, Aims._ "I won't take no for an answer."

_No you won't, will you. _Her agitation gave way to anger. Was she just there for his amusement? Did she have no say in anything anymore?

Apparently not...

"Fine," Amelia said sharply. She climbed clumsily down from the wagon seat, nearly falling on her way. "But if my father says he needs me you'll be eating by yourself."

Jackson didn't seem worried. He smirked down at her in total satisfaction.

"Until later, Miss Brown."

He tipped his hat and drove off in a cloud of dust.

Amelia glared after him, the heat rising to her cheeks and waves of white hot anger and embarrassment coursed through her. She turned quickly and hurried into the shop.

"Marty!" She called, throwing the doors open before her, "Dad! You guys better know how to get out of here before I'm wanted for murder!"

* * *

Bea had seen him through the upstairs window of her saloon. He had driven right past her in that ridiculous wagon his father had purchased him. A wagon she had never been allowed to ride in. The harsh reminder of her social standing was bitter arsenic on her tongue.

So that's what had been so important that morning. The Brown girl needed to see the sights. Well how lovely for her. Bea snapped the lace curtains back over the window so severely they tore.

She should have seen such a thing coming…she _had _seen such a thing coming, but that little tramp had simpered and sighed and _promised_ that men were the furthest thing from her mind. Now look where she was. Bea was so angry she could spit.

The Brown girl needed to go and she needed to go quickly. Bea had worked too hard for too long to lose to someone barely out of diapers. Jackson Hubert was the designated property of Bea Tannen, and the girl wouldn't last very much longer if she failed to understand that.


	11. Chapter 11

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**Author's Note**

**Long time coming! Here you go, guys. Enjoy.**

1885—Hill Valley

November 30th

11:00 am

Around eleven, Jackson sent a wagon to collect Amelia for their lunch date. Amelia promptly told the man at the reigns that he could turn right around and go back without her.

"He thought you'd say that," the man said, smirking, "and he told me not to leave until you promised to dine with him next week."

"Oh, did he?" Amelia frowned and crossed her arms.

"Yes, Ma'am."

She glared at the man for a moment, an argument coiling itself like a rattlesnake on the tip of her tongue. Jackson's arrogance was enough to make her hair curl with distaste. Amelia had never been particularly fond of taking orders and she wasn't about change just because somebody stuck her in a petticoat. She was a modern woman, alternate timelines be damned. Jackson Hubert could get bent.

She was about to say so when she remembered the car. That poor, mangled, tin-can of an automobile was sitting just behind her in the smithy, totally immobile and useless. Emmett had just been hired to work on the clockwork components of the new Courthouse. The commission Mayor Hubert had offered was staggering, certainly enough to finance the repairs needed to get them home. If Amelia insulted Jackson and her father lost the Hubert's as clients they might as well resign themselves to living out the rest of their lives in 1885. That wasn't a commitment she was willing to make.

_Shut it, Amelia. _

She took several deep breaths. Her anger slowly dropped from a rolling boil to a steady simmer. The driver watched her expectantly.

"You're not going to leave until I agree, are you?" Amelia already knew the answer.

"No, Ma'am."

She forced herself to remain calm. Blowing up wouldn't benefit anyone. _Just do what he wants. It's not like he's asking to marry you, it's just lunch._

"Fine," Amelia grumbled, swallowing her pride. "Next week."

"That'll be fine, Ma'am," the man said, grinning like he had read her thoughts. "He also said he looks forward to tomorrow night. G'day." He tipped his hat and thundered off down the road, his laughter cutting through the rumble of the wagon wheels.

Amelia felt her body start to shake with furious energy. She stalked back into the shop and slammed the door behind her, sending a great swirl of straw and sawdust into the air. Her blood was pumping through her veins with such intensity she could hear it in her ears. She wanted to break something, punch something! A tin bucket had the misfortune of crossing her path and Amelia sent if flying across the shop with a swift kick. It ricocheted off Emmett's workbench with an empty metallic _clang_ before rolling to a stop under the car.

When she looked up Marty and Emmett were staring at her from under the hood of the DeLorean. Her face was suddenly very warm.

"Everything ok?" Marty asked carefully.

Amelia pulled herself up and brushed her hair out of her eyes. When she spoke her voice was about an octave higher than usual.

"Yeah, wonderful."

It was painfully unconvincing, even to her, but neither of them pressed the issue. Amelia supposed Marty in particular was just happy not to be the one in trouble for a change. In fact, the look on his face suggested that he was perfectly happy to let her kick as many buckets as she wanted as long as they weren't aimed at him.

With forced calm, Amelia settled herself at the workbench and tried to casually incorporate herself into the conversation Emmett and Marty were having. Her father had buried himself to the waist in the engine of the car and was steadily passing Marty parts. Amelia was no expert on cars, but something told her that taking out all the mechanics wasn't going to get it up and running any quicker.

"Why are we gutting her again, Doc?" Marty asked as Emmett handed him the oil covered crankshaft.

"The motor is almost entirely useless now that the battery is dead and the fuel line severed," Emmett said, his voice echoing from inside the car. "We might as well salvage her for parts."

"Have you decided what you're going to use to power the time circuits?" Amelia asked. The reality of the car was calming her down, or at least redirecting her anxiety.

"I was thinking some sort of turbine, maybe steam powered. Locomotives are already using that technology. It wouldn't be hard to find someone with the knowledge of how they work." Emmett pulled himself out from under the hood and wiped his hands on his flannel shirt.

Amelia was a little taken aback. "Don't you know how to build one?"

"Well of course I do," Emmett said with a wave of his hand, "With the technology we have in 1985, building a steam engine would be fairly rudimentary work. I just can't do everything myself. If someone else built the engine I could focus on making sure the time circuits and the flux capacitor are in order. By outsourcing our work maybe we'll we able to get home before any noticeable aging has occurred. Also, who knows the last time Einstein was let outside."

Amelia laughed to herself. Marty glanced at her, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. She felt her face grow hot again. There was something delightfully devilish behind that grin. Hot pressure grew between her legs as Amelia recalled Marty's tentative kisses to her thighs that morning. Maybe she had been wrong about that whole "not ready" thing…

A knock on the barn door caused everyone to jump. Marty nearly dropped the part he was holding. Emmett started for the door with a frown on his face; he didn't remember setting an appointment for this time. He was halfway there before he remembered the DeLorean and rushed back to replace its tarp. The knock came again.

"Great Scott, I'm coming, I'm coming!" Emmett called. As he eased his way back towards the door, he made sure the car was appropriately and ambiguously tarp covered. Satisfied, he opened the barn door.

Dr. McKinney's tall pale form was a faint outline against the bright afternoon sunlight. He removed his hat when he saw Amelia at the workbench and his sleek black head shone glossily. He nodded at her and Marty before addressing Emmett.

"I was afraid you wouldn't be here, Brown," McKinney said anxiously. "I was on my way to the train station when my axel broke. Would you mind my using yours for the afternoon? I wouldn't ask but I'm supposed to be collecting someone." His anxiety was causing his forced American accent to rise and fall in strange places. Amelia heard Marty snicker.

"Certainly, Art," Emmett said good-naturedly. "It's around back. I'll help you hook her up. Family coming to town?" He asked as he grabbed his hat and coat.

"No, I'm supposed to pick up the new schoolteacher."

"I better come with then; help with the luggage. If she's anything like Amelia she's bound to have brought more than she needs." Emmett laughed heartily and slapped McKinney on the back. McKinney started to chuckle, caught Amelia's eye, blushed furiously and excused himself to tend to his horse and useless wagon. Emmett watched him go with a slight frown on his face. With a sigh he said, "He's an odd boy. Behave yourselves while I'm gone."

The door barely made a sound as it closed behind Emmett. Marty and Amelia looked at each other. It was so quiet in the smithy that you could hear the mice scurrying about under the straw.

Amelia started to giggle. Her face went very red as she convulsed with silent laughter on the workbench stool. Marty watched her, a chuckle or two of his own escaping his lips.

"What's so funny?"

"'Behave yourselves'," Amelia managed to squeak out between giggles.

Marty smiled broadly and had the grace to color about the ears. He held out his arms to her and she slid off of the stool, still laughing, and went to him. Marty wound his arms about her waist.

"Yeah…you think he's on to us?"

"I think he's on to _you_." Amelia smiled and kissed him lightly on the lips. She ran a hand through his messy hair and searched his face. "Marty, I have something to tell you."

She felt his arms tense but his expression remained calm.

"Shoot."

"When I was out with Jackson this morning we ran into his father at the clock tower," she began. "I guess there's a dance or something tomorrow night and I kinda got forced into going with him. Jackson, I mean, not his father."

Marty let his arms fall from her waist. He caught her hands in his and wound their fingers together.

"Aims, I told you I was going to trust you and I am. Jackson, well, he's just something we got to get through right now. Doc needs that job at the clock tower…we need that job at the clock tower. It's O.K., I understand."

He pulled her to him and kissed the side of her head. Her body melted against his in silent relief. For a moment it looked good, but soon the old feelings began to creep up on him.

Marty took a steadying breath. It really wasn't O.K..

* * *

Emmett and Dr. McKinney stood together on the boarding platform of the Hill Valley train station. Neither of them spoke. Emmett's good-humored jokes had never sat well with the doctor. He was too serious, too premeditated for them to be real friends. It was a shame; McKinney really wasn't that bad of a guy. Emmett suspected his solemnity, much like his sometimes iffy American accent, was simply a means to garner respect. Irish immigrants weren't the most loved foreigners, never mind Irish immigrants who had the audacity to become doctors.

A small black dot appeared on the horizon, a great black cloud following in its wake. The train whistled shrilly. A disdainful smile coiled itself across McKinney's young face. It drew hard lines and made him look much older.

"Ugly beasts aren't they?" he said softly.

"What? The train?" Emmett shrugged. He really didn't have much of an opinion of trains. "What's wrong with it?"

McKinney stared off down the tracks. The train was loosing momentum now and its break system squealed with the effort. He wrinkled up his nose in distaste and turned away.

"Build one of those monsters and let me know if your apathy remains." McKinney began to walk away, "I'll bring the horses around."

Emmett had to force himself not to chase the doctor down. _Build _one? It was almost too good to be true. Could it really be possible that the man had real knowledge of the inner workings of a locomotive? If he could convince McKinney to help him build a steam engine perhaps there was hope of getting out of this mess yet.

In his ecstatic daze Emmett barely heard the train hiss to a halt next to him. When he came to his senses he noticed a women descending from the train and looking around at the platform expectantly. _Schoolteacher_, his brain said. He stepped forward.

The woman's eyes lit upon him and her worried expression softened to a smile. She wasn't old, maybe thirty, and he face still had much of its girlish appeal. Her hair was deep brown and naturally curly, and a few flyaway strands swirled softly from under her straw hat. With a hitch in his breathing, Emmett also noticed she had the prettiest brown eyes he had ever seen.

"Doctor McKinney?" she asked, taking the hand he offered her and lowering herself onto the platform. Her small gloved hand felt small and delicate in his.

"Emmett Brown, actually," he said with a tip of his hat. Her smile faltered slightly. "I'm the town blacksmith. The doctor went to pull around the wagon."

"Oh, good." She gave a little half sigh, half laugh that tinkled like a wind chime and Emmett's heart very nearly stopped. "I'm Clara Clayton, the new schoolteacher." She offered her hand again and Emmett shook it gently. "Well, I should speak to the porter about my things. Perhaps you should fetch Dr. McKinney. I'm afraid I have quite a load."

She swished off into the station office to find a porter. Emmett watched the way her slim form moved underneath the grey silk of her travel dress. He swallowed hard.

This was not good.


	12. Chapter 12

**READ AND REVIEW!**

**Author's Note**

**Ok, I'm gonna level with all of you. The reason for my prolonged absence (disappearance?) is because I honestly didn't know how to end this story. Aside from killing everyone and making a bunch of readers very confused, I just couldn't figure it out. But then I had a flash of inspiration! It was one of those moments that hits you while you're in the bathroom and you have to scramble around in your drawers for lipstick or an eyebrow pencil just so you can write it on your mirror before you totally forget it. So, I'm pleased to announce that I have indeed figured out how to end this story. Go me.**

**Happy Reading! **

1885—Hill Valley

December 1st

8:00pm

The soft incandescent glow of two hundred paper lanterns bathed the square in amber light. Beneath the gentle twinkling of the lamps the entire town had congregated, or so it seemed. From her perch on the steps of the half completed courthouse, Amelia was able to see well above the throngs of people. Many were dancing on the plank floor that had been constructed at the foot of the stairs, swirling and laughing to the bawdy music. Others were busy taking in the fair that bordered the square. Where earlier that day there had been nothing but dirt road and rubble, now there stood upwards of fifty booths. Venders from all over California had arrived that morning with the purpose of peddling to the excitable festival crowds. At dinner Jackson had complained of the uselessness of the thing, saying that Hill Valleyians would rather lose limbs than lighten their purses, but it appeared he had been wrong. Drunk from the thrill of the spectacle, men and women swarmed the stalls. They crowded around the various displays with enthusiasm, watching wide-eyed as the salesmen demonstrated the newest inventions and not hesitating to part with their money.

Amid the eagerly bartering booths, Amelia caught a glimpse of Marty. He was dressed in one of Emmett's suites, which was a bit too large for him, and was awkwardly hobbling around on the crutches Dr. McKinney had fashioned for him. He appeared to be enjoying himself, smiling as he carefully picked his way through the crowd toward a stall selling revolvers. Amelia's heart sank a little. She had missed him today. Jackson had successfully monopolized her time all afternoon and well into the evening. It had been a very tiresome day, and the sight of Marty looking so handsome in his suite (albeit too big) made her long for the coziness of his arms around her. Unfortunately…

Jackson touched her elbow lightly, making her jump. He smiled his impossibly white smile at her and bent his lips to her ear. Amelia blushed in spite of herself. He smelled like leather. She caught several girls glaring at her with contempt and blushed some more.

"There are some people I would like for you to meet," Jackson drawled. The wisps of his breath sent shivers down her spine. He was such a jerk, she wished he wasn't so goddamned attractive.

The people Jackson introduced her to were all important and all utterly forgettable; business owners and members of the local government who worked with his father. They all made the same conversation and shared the same polite smiles, congratulating her on the good fortune of being seen with Jackson. Jackson, for his part, had the grace to accept their compliments humbly, nodding polite thank yous before redirecting the conversation back to Amelia. Obliging and affectionate, Jackson was nearly the perfect escort. He kept her close all night, his hand always the ghost of a touch on her arm or near the small of her back, and whenever he spoke it was almost exclusively to sing her praises. Amelia was startled at first by the shift in Jackson's demeanor, but as the evening wore on she decided that it really wasn't all that bad. He was still a jerk, but perhaps she had judged too quickly.

After all Jackson's friends had been met and promptly forgotten, Amelia found herself idling alone at the corner of the dance floor. She bounced on the balls of her feet to the music and watched the calico and gingham skirts twirl past her. Amelia glanced down at the painted silk dress Jackson had insisted on buying her that afternoon. It was a soft cream with tiny moss colored polka-dots and a very elaborate bustle. The dress had been being used as a show piece in the seamstress's shop window until Jackson had bought it and was very obviously the most expensive gown at the festival. She would have felt absolutely stunning if she hadn't had the sneaking suspicion that all the other girls found her ridiculous.

"I like your dress." Marty limped out of the throng of onlookers to stand next to her. He grinned lopsidedly, his eyes taking in the ornate hairdo Mrs. Hubert's maid had fabricated. "You look like a doll or something."

Amelia rolled her eyes.

"Well thanks, but I feel like an idiot. I kept telling Jackson I didn't need all of this stuff but he said he couldn't let a lady attend the festival in 'rags'. Self-important jackass."

Marty snorted.

"Where is Prince Charming?" He asked, eyeing the crowd.

"He said he was going to get us something to drink," Amelia sighed apathetically. "I'm hoping a stray bullet from the revolver booth picks him off before he gets back."

Marty's grin widened even more. "Come on, he's not that bad is he?"

Amelia didn't answer right away. Jackson was arrogant and condescending of course, but she couldn't help but feel there was more to him. The evening had turned out to be somewhat of a fairytale with Jackson attending to her so carefully, so chivalrously. _Jackson_. The thought of his name sent unexpected butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Her face grew hot. She looked at Marty's smiling face and felt the butterflies wither into guilt.

_Shit. _

* * *

Emmett wasn't quite sure how to breach the subject. He and McKinney were far from pals. Tolerant acquaintances more accurately summed up their relationship and Emmett didn't know how he would take to a stranger digging around in his personal life. Still, Emmett had to at least _try _and talk to him. If McKinney knew anything at all about trains (and it seemed to Emmett he knew a great deal) he would be almost invaluable to their chances of getting back to 1985. Such an opportunity could not be passed up because he was afraid of hurting the doctor's feelings.

He found McKinney among the cluster of tables that was the evening's makeshift beer garden. He was sitting alone, watching a poker game at the next table and drinking a glass of whiskey.

"Evening, Art," Emmett said with a grin. McKinney looked up at him stoically and nodded. "Mind if I have a seat?"

"Be my guest," McKinney said politely.

Emmett pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. For several moments they sat in awkward silence. Emmett's fingertips drummed on the wooden table top and his eyes darted nervously about the tables, looking anywhere but at McKinney. The doctor cleared his throat impatiently. Emmett took a breath and got right to the point.

"At the train station the other day, you mentioned that you had built a train."

McKinney's eyes, which until then had been mildly annoyed, went dark and he leaned back in his chair.

"Trains," he corrected him. "I assisted in the building of several."

Even better! Emmett's heart leapt in excitement. He drew nearer to McKinney and lowered his voice.

"Do you remember how? If I asked you to build a steam turbine, could you?"

A frown creased the doctor's young face. He knocked back the rest of his whiskey.

"There are few things in my life I'll never forget," McKinney said, glaring at the empty glass, "and that is one of them. Yes, I remember."

Emmett's mouth went dry. His luck was just too brilliant.

"And you could build one?" He repeated in a rush.

McKinney looked long and hard at Emmett, his face a storm cloud. Emmett felt his good fortune slipping away. What had he said?

"No," McKinney said sharply.

"But, you just said—"

"I said I 'could' build one, I never said I 'would'," McKinney hissed.

"I don't understand," Emmett pressed, getting a little annoyed at McKinney's abrupt change in mood, "If it's a matter of money I can pay you."

"Let it go, old man," McKinney growled, slamming his glass down on the table. "I said I wouldn't."

He stood violently, nearly knocking over his chair, and stalked off. In seconds the crowd had swallowed him and he was gone.

Utterly deflated, Emmett slumped back in his seat. He felt the beginnings of a headache start to smolder at the edges of his brain. Why couldn't it ever be easy? Just one time, just this one time why couldn't it be as simple as "hey, buddy, do me a favor?" Emmett closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, his headache was already burning its way across his forehead.

"Mr. Brown? Is everything all right?"

Emmett jumped so hard he nearly fell off of his chair. Clara yelped and caught him by the arm. The weight of him almost took her down too. Emmett steadied both of them against the table, accidentally pulling Clara's waist flush to his torso. The scent of her lavender perfume flooded his nostrils.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Brown," Clara apologized breathlessly, her brown eyes scanning his face, "I didn't mean to startled you."

"No, no it's alright," Emmett dismissed, reluctantly letting go of her. "I didn't hear you coming, Miss Clayton. Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine," she said, smiling. "How about yourself?"

"Much better now," Emmett said before he could stop himself. They both blushed. Clara looked at her feet, her smile stretching even wider.

"Mr. Brown, how many advances do you plan to make toward me this evening?" Her eyes glittered teasingly at him.

"I beg your pardon, Ma'am," Emmett said, standing and giving her a slight bow. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Clara laughed her twinkling silver laugh and Emmett's blood pumped faster. He turned his hat in his hands and shuffled his feet, suddenly fifteen and awkward again. Well…_more _awkward.

"There are a few booths I've been wanting to see," Clara said after a moment. "Have you walked that way yet?"

"No I haven't," Emmett lied quickly, thankful that she knew what to say. He offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

* * *

If Marty had sensed her hesitation he didn't let on. He just laughed at the serious expression on her face and gave her shoulder a playful shove.

"It wasn't a trick question, Aims," he teased.

Amelia forced herself to laugh with him, relieved he hadn't been able to read her thoughts.

"What did I miss?" Jackson asked as he joined them. Their chuckling died as he glanced from one to the other expectantly. "Just between siblings, then?" He passed Amelia a glass of lemonade.

"Sorry, Jack," Marty said with a smirk.

The corners of Jackson's lips twitched slightly but he said nothing. The informality had not sat well with him. He turned to Amelia.

"It's getting late, Miss Brown," he said.

"Oh, I'm not tired," Amelia said, sipping her lemonade.

"All the other ladies are leaving," Jackson insisted. Then purposefully he added, "I'd like to see you home safe."

Amelia's cheeks grew very hot. She clung to her glass of lemonade, swirling the contents around and avoiding looking at either of them. What was she supposed to say? Either way she would be in trouble.

Marty spoke up for her, surprising everyone.

"Go on, Amelia, I'll tell Dad." He was still smiling like he found everything a huge joke. Amelia found that worse.

"Are you sure?" She asked pointedly.

"Of course he is, he said so," Jackson said, taking her arm and steering her away gently.

Amelia threw a glance over her shoulder as Jackson marched her through the throngs of people. Marty was still smiling after them, but the rigid way he was standing told Amelia there was something wrong. She sighed, not excited for the talk they were sure to have later.

As expected, the smithy was dark when Amelia and Jackson approached it. The only light that fell on them was the residual glow from the festival and what moonlight was able to filter through the clouds. The latter made Jackson's honey gold hair shimmer romantically. She caught herself watching the strands dance across his face and looked away, cursing herself.

Jackson led her to the barn door and waited patiently as she fiddled with the big lock. For some reason her hands felt very large and cumbersome. After several agonizing moments it clicked open.

"Thank you for walking me home," Amelia said quickly, attempting to squeeze through the door and into the safety of the shop before any more regrettable thoughts came to mind.

Jackson chuckled, a low enticing sound, and placed a large suntanned hand delicately on her waist.

"Is that all?" He asked, pulling her toward him so slowly Amelia barely knew it was happening at all. She tried to back away and met the barn door. Jackson smirked and ran the tips of his fingers down her shoulder. "Miss Brown, I must confess you've bewitched me."

"H-have I?" Amelia asked, casting around desperately for a way out.

"I must apologize for my actions early. I fear I came across as…less than genuine. You were right to be angry, I was hardly a gentleman. Please forgive me."

"Sure, whatever…no big deal." _Too close, oh God why are you so close?_

Jackson closed the gap between them further. His hands slid down the silk of her dress and came to a rest on her hips. Amelia tried to squirm away but Jackson's hands held fast to her, pressing her almost painfully against the barn door.

"Please don't leave me like this, Miss Brown," Jackson purred into her ear, nuzzling the sensitive skin under her earlobe.

"What are you doing? Stop it." Amelia shoved against his chest but it had almost no effect against him. "I'm serious, get off. Let me go!"

"You would leave me? I stand here burning for you and you would leave? You don't mean that, Miss Brown." Jackson's hand roughly cupped her right breast and he bit into the side of her neck. "Tell me you don't mean that."

"I don't…stop…I don…"

Amelia's voice failed her. Her head was swimming from the pressure of his hand on her breast, from the gentle nips he was trailing down her neck. She wanted nothing more than to go inside and lock the door and send Jackson away forever. Her brain was screaming at her to do it, but the rest of her body seemed to have other plans. She felt herself lean into him, yielding. His stubble scratched her cheeks, her lips. They burned as he kissed her. It was rough but practiced, slow and circling and just long enough to make her groan when they parted.

"I knew you'd come around," Jackson's voice was a satisfied whisper against her cheek. "Until next time, Miss Brown."

Amelia didn't light any lamps in the smithy. She crossed the hay strewn floor in complete darkness, finding her way to her stable room from memory. Once inside, she stripped off the painted silk Jackson had purchased, tearing it beyond repair in her haste to be rid of it. When it was off, torn and mangled, she kicked it to the corner of the room.

It wasn't until she had thrown herself onto the bed that the tears came.

* * *

"Why didn't you call on me today?"

Jackson froze, one foot in the stirrup of his saddle, and turned to squint into the blackness of the alley next to the courthouse. At first all he saw were shadows. Then one of them shifted and Bea materialized a few feet in front of him.

"You've taken to lurking around alleyways now?" Jackson asked dryly. "You've been reading too many gothic novels, I fear."

Bea ignored the comment.

"I expected to see you," she said. There was an edge to her voice, a sharpness meant to cut him. "You promised to come the other night and you didn't, and all day today I've seen you about with that Brown girl."

Jackson swung himself up onto his saddle. His horse snorted and shifted its weight.

"Jealousy is not attractive on you, Beatrice," he said. Bea gazed up at him with a look of contempt. "Do you honestly think you have anything to fear from that child?"

"It you that I'm worried about," she said icily.

Jackson's lips twitched. He steered his horse toward her, stopping by her side. Bea glared at him. In one fluid motion, Jackson bent and pulled Bea's face to his. He kissed her painfully hard. She wrapped her arms about his neck, meeting the swirl of his tongue with her own. When he pulled away Bea was left breathless and lightheaded. She ran her palm up the length of his thigh to his belt, tugging gently.

"Be with me tonight." It was more of a command than a question.

Jackson offered her his hand and helped her onto the back of his horse.

* * *

Marty walked home alone from the festival. He had seen Emmett dancing with a woman and decided it was best not to interrupt him. One of them had to have a good time, might as well be Emmett. All things considered, he deserved it more.

He hadn't necessarily had a _bad_ time. The guns had been pretty cool and he had been able to have all the free beer he wanted, but watching Amelia get carted around by that Jackson jerk all night long had been torture. He had put up with it the best he could for Aims' sake, but by the end of the night Marty had been ready to punch his pretty face in.

There were no lights on in the smithy when Marty arrived. He had been expecting to see Amelia up and waiting for him but even her room was dark. He thought about peeking in to check on her and decided against it. She was probably asleep. He'd see her in the morning.

Marty lay down on his cot and stared at the blackened ceiling for a long while. Now and then he thought he heard somebody crying, but it came and went so quickly that he couldn't be sure. Deciding it was the wind, he drifted off to sleep.

That night, he dreamt he punched the pretty off of Jackson's face.


End file.
